


Have a Heart

by kyrene



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Snark, fuck-or-die only not really, some violence and gore, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spending his Valentine's Day on a stakeout and coming under threat of death by midnight... these are not Stiles' idea of how a holiday should go. Especially when it's Derek who's caught up in events with him. On the other hand, maybe things will work out all right in the end after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have a Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fyredancer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/gifts).



> This is my version of a short PWP; which is to say, really neither of those things. ^_~ A fuck-or-die scenario, but not your typical fuck-or-die fic. There's definitely sex, though. Because this fic is for my sweetie and I knows what she likes~! Happy Valentine's Day, my love, my life! Have some Sterek!

"Tell me again why you called me to be your back-up when we're on the trail of a creature that's _ripping people's hearts out_?"

"What?" Derek sounded irritated rather than confused, but Stiles clarified anyway.

"Well, wouldn't it be more ideal to bring someone with you who was capable of tearing out hearts themselves? I mean, I can be a master tactician, it's true," Stiles patted himself on the chest, since he couldn't reach his own back, "But I don't have claws or super-strength or -- hey, kind of _important_ here -- preternatural healing."

Derek just snorted.

"Also, it's Valentine's Day," Stiles felt the need to point out.

"So?"

"So? So?" Stiles flailed a little. If Derek wanted him here then Derek was going to have to deal with Stiles' particular brand of off-beat charm. "So it's _Valentine's Day_ , Derek. I could have had a date for all you know!"

The frankly disbelieving look Derek gave him was frankly insulting.

"I could have!" Stiles squeaked, realizing as the words left his lips that they weren't very convincing, and that he couldn't really lie to a werewolf. Dammit.

Derek just snorted again and turned to stare out the windshield.

"I totally could have," Stiles grumbled, settling back into his seat, arms folded, to pout. Scott was with Allison. Jackson and Lydia were no doubt celebrating in some dysfunctional-but-gorgeous fashion. And through rumor and hearsay Stiles knew that each and every one of the Beta Three had plans despite being a pack of jerkfaces. Hell, even Creepy Uncle Peter-vert might well be busy, though Stiles shuddered to consider....

"Wait." A horrible thought occurred to him, a budding realization. He turned to Derek, mouth already hanging open in anticipated outrage. "Did you ask me to come along because I was the only one who was available?"

Derek stared at Stiles blankly, as though he had forgotten how words worked.

"You asshole!" Stiles smacked Derek on the arm, then hissed and surreptitiously shook his stinging fingers. "I totally could have had a date!"

"Keep telling yourself that," Derek rumbled, and now he was smirking at Stiles, the asshole. 

"Ha-ha," Stiles sneered, sinking into his seat and trying not to feel like a _complete_ loser. He could at least console himself with the knowledge that Derek didn't have any Valentine's Day plans either.

That wasn't really as comforting as he'd have liked.

"Do you even know what we're looking for?" Stiles asked after the silence in the car began to get to him. If he was spending the holiday trapped in Derek's car he at least wanted to know why. Oh, sure, there was a supernatural being of some sort roaming Beacon Hills, tearing out people's hearts and probably consuming them or something, and Derek wanted to kill it so that his pack wouldn't get blamed. But Stiles needed more details; especially when he was stuck on what was essentially a stakeout with the cranky Alpha. Snark was better than silence, but Stiles still sort of hoped he'd get a straight answer this time.

"If I knew, we wouldn't be looking."

No such luck, then. Stiles scowled and huffed, folding his arms. "What I _meant_ was, why are we parked _here_? Do you have any particular reason for thinking whatever is doing this is going to show up on this street out of all the other streets in Beacon Hill?"

Derek didn't answer, just stared stonily out the windshield, his jaw tight.

"So... we're just hoping that you made a lucky guess?" Stiles hazarded, brows rising. "Or did you need an excuse to go parking with me? You could have just asked, you know."

Derek turned to glare at him, and Stiles smirked.

"I'd have said no," he pointed out, just so there weren't any misunderstandings. "But you still should have asked."

"Would it actually physically hurt you to shut the hell up?" Derek asked, sounding honestly curious about the reply.

Stiles frowned. "No."

"I could make it so it does," Derek responded, raising one fist. He didn't shake it or even lean into Stiles' space, but the threat was clear in the slant of his thick eyebrows. That and the one fang he was displaying, totally not by accident.

Stiles snorted. "Whatever. I thought we were supposed to be watching out for something we don't know what it is but it likes to tear people's hearts out, even if we don't know why we think it might be here."

Derek stared at him incredulously for a moment, then dropped his hand into his lap and raised his eyes to the Camaro ceiling. "We're here," he said slowly, "Because I smelled something off in this area. Why did you think I was driving with the windows open in this weather?"

Stiles waved his hands. "I don't know! I thought you wanted some fresh air to clear your head or something!"

"More likely I was gagging on the stench of the body spray you dosed yourself with before you left the house," Derek grumped in return.

Stiles had nothing to say to that, his mouth snapping closed as he sank even lower in his seat, in danger of sliding into the foot-well. He wasn't embarrassed, really. Just, Derek was a douchebag and Stiles was kind of--

"There!"

Derek was out of the car before Stiles had even reacted to his sudden bark by straightening up. Cursing, Stiles groped for the door handle, finding it and curling his fingers around it just in time to almost have his hand yanked off when Derek pulled the door open from the outside.

"Hurry up," Derek snarled, and Stiles threw himself out of the car, nearly colliding with Derek's crotch because the Camaro was way lower than Stiles' Jeep. But then not everyone could be fortunate enough to have Stiles' Jeep. There was only one of her and she belonged to Stiles; nothing could beat her for true blue beauty.

"Why the hell did you think bringing the human was a good idea?" Stiles wanted to know, but Derek was already well on his way down the block before the sentence was half out his mouth, so Stiles sucked it up, grabbed the baseball bat he'd pulled out of the back of his closet, and slammed the car door shut before he ran after Derek as fast as his own _human_ legs could carry him. 

It was highly likely that a baseball bat wasn't the best weapon he could have brought, Stiles thought as he desperately tried to catch up to Derek. But it was the best he had, and it wasn't as though Derek could have expected anything better from him. Stiles still thought it was a mistake that he was here, but it was a little late to lodge a formal complaint. Maybe after this was all over with.

Right now, Stiles was trying to catch up to Derek, but he had no idea what it was the Alpha werewolf was after. It was all he could do to keep Derek in sight, and he wanted to call out for Derek to wait for him, but he knew that would be a bad idea. Derek was on the hunt, and whatever he was hunting had killed four people already today, since early in the morning, February fourteenth. Freaking Valentine's Day of all days. The sooner Derek dealt with this, the better.

It wasn't actually long before Derek got the whatever-it-was trapped in a blind alley. Stiles almost slammed into the Alpha werewolf's broad back, stopping himself just in time. Of course, it would have done Stiles more damage than Derek but any distraction would have been inopportune.

Peering around the growling werewolf, baseball bat brandished, Stiles finally got a look at what Derek had cornered. Or... who?

It looked like just some guy, as far as Stiles could tell, but he trusted Derek to have gotten this right. A second, closer look revealed sharp predator's eyes and nascent fangs. The fact that this stranger had blood on his fingertips meant he'd been caught red-handed, Stiles thought with a bit of pride over the pun. Then he recalled that blood meant someone was hurt or dead, and he felt kind of like a jerk.

Still, Derek had caught the thing, had it hedged in with his claws and his fangs and his mighty werewolf strength. And Stiles... Stiles had his baseball bat.

Which, okay, was kind of lame as far as backup went, Stiles could admit. But Derek was the one who had insisted he come along with him. At least there was a growling Alpha between Stiles and this monster that evidently went around ripping out hearts.

Of course no sooner had this thought crossed Stiles' mind than the guy lashed out at Derek with some suddenly-appearing claws of its own that put werewolf claws to shame -- hell, claws that might have put Wolverine or Freddy Krueger to shame -- and suddenly Derek was falling in a rather impressive spatter of blood.

Then, before Stiles even managed to swing his bat, he found himself hitting the pavement on his back, his lungs struggling for air, a heavy weight on his belly, and those same sharp claws digging into his chest.

He'd be yelling for Derek, he was sure, only the wind had very decisively been knocked out of him. He was pretty well certain that he was about to become dead, his heart torn right out of his body, and it _sucked_ that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

The police reports Stiles shouldn't have had access to had stated that the victim's breastbones had been ripped right out of their bodies, then their hearts torn forcibly free of the open chest cavity. A hell of a lot of strength had been involved. Stiles hadn't been able to make himself look at the autopsy photos, but he figured he was about to _become_ one of the victims with his heart ripped out and this was going to utterly destroy his Dad, but it wasn't as though there was anything he could do to stop it now. Stiles didn't want to die, especially not like this, but it wasn't like he had a choice--

And then, suddenly, a look of distaste crossed the face of the not-human pinning him down, and the claws withdrew. Stiles could feel where they had been, the skin stinging, his shirt clinging damp as it soaked up the quick-springing blood, but he was alive. He was finally able to draw in a full breath as his lungs recovered, and most importantly he was _alive_ and his breastbone was intact.

With a roar that made Stiles' ears hurt, Derek _grabbed_ the being straddling Stiles and flung it across the alley. It smashed into the wall hard enough to send a shower of brick dust falling down onto the pavement, but this didn't seem to so much as faze it, as it rose and brushed off its clothing with blood-stained fingers.

Definitely not human, even though the claws seemed to have vanished and it looked mostly human again.

Stiles had more than half expected Derek to go after the creature, but instead the Alpha crouched over him, growling, wolfed-out, eyes flashing crimson. For someone who acted as though he hated Stiles most of the time, Derek spent an awful lot of time saving and protecting him, Stiles thought somewhat foggily.

"Don't you touch him," Derek snarled, the words a little garbled by the massive fangs in his mouth, but still understandable. As though his body language wasn't enough to warn their opponent off.

"I can't take your heart," the guy-monster-thing said, upper lip rising in a sneer, ignoring Derek, eyes fixed on Stiles even though there was a rumbling, bristling Alpha werewolf right between them, ready to claw its throat out. "Not when it's already given to another."

"Huh?" Stiles blinked. That wasn't anything he had expected to hear. "No, I've... I've given up on the Lydia thing," he said, even though it made him ache a little to speak the words. It was true, though. She was incredible, amazing, and so much more than Jackson would ever deserve, but Jackson had _come back from death for her_ so Stiles kind of had to let that dream go, however reluctantly.

Derek's growling ramped up, and it occurred belatedly to Stiles that he probably shouldn't have told the monster that wanted to tear his heart out that said heart didn't belong to Lydia anymore. Oops.

"Your heart belongs to another," the guy repeated, "But it still remains unclaimed." Bright eyes flickered to Derek now, and a particularly nasty smile crossed the human-looking face, straight white teeth flashing in a grin that could have given Peter a run for his money. "Foolish and dangerous," he purred, maintaining eye contact with Derek as though he wanted to eye-fuck him or something.

"Wh-what?" Stiles gaped. He was still feeling winded from hitting the ground so hard and his chest hurt where the claws had sunk into his skin even though he thought it had stopped bleeding. His head was spinning, and he was pretty sure that this heart-stealing monster was implying that he had feelings for Derek, which was just... what? No! If Stiles had given his heart to Derek freaking Hale, he'd have been _aware_ of that fact. Right?

Wouldn't he have?

"Stupid, to wander about unclaimed on today of all days," the guy purred, now looking at Stiles again. "This is _my_ day, and all who are alone are mine; I have only to pick."

"He's not here alone," Derek growled, and Stiles was a little startled, but it was probably for the best that Derek was responding since he was sort of gaping like a landed fish here, brain still struggling to process what the monster had said about him and... Derek?

"And yet he remains unclaimed," the monster-guy said, smirking at Derek, and that had to take balls, but then, if this thing was capable of tearing a breastbone right out of someone's chest then its strength had to be on par with a werewolf's. "Unclaimed, untouched.... His heart may belong to you, but I can take it, if I wish. I can _make_ it mine."

Derek actually snarled at this, and since when had that become a comforting sound to Stiles? Well, maybe since Derek was the only thing between Stiles' heart and a creature that wanted to literally rip it out of his chest.

Derek was poised to attack, but the creature wasn't moving. Not toward them, and not away, which would have been the smart thing.

"You have until midnight," it said, turning its gaze back to Stiles. Its eyes were glowing, but not the way werewolves' eyes glowed; more like the entire eyeball was lighted from the inside, shining a yellow color that made Stiles' stomach turn. "If he hasn't claimed your body by then, your heart will be mine."

" _What_?!" Stiles was pretty sure he'd just yelped this question, but he was drowned out by the roar Derek gave as he leapt at the heart-thieving monster.

Stiles blinked, so he missed whatever happened next, but Derek was suddenly coming up against the cracked brick wall because the creature they were facing off with was abruptly _not there_ , and just as suddenly Stiles felt an unexpected and entirely unwelcome heat at his back, where he was propped up on his elbows while still stretched out on the pavement.

"By 'claimed' I mean sexed up," a low voice whispered in Stiles ear, the words riding on a wave of hot breath that smelled like raw meat in a way that made Stiles literally gag. He really, really didn't want to know the reason for that smell. "In case there was any confusion. He claims you as _his_ or else you're _mine_."

Claws dragged over Stiles' chest again, catching on the blood-spotted material of his teeshirt but thankfully not piercing flesh. Stiles went stiff and still -- like prey, dammit -- then Derek was roaring again and Stiles instinctively flung himself to one side as the Alpha werewolf launched himself at the monster behind him.

As Stiles rolled onto his back, clutching at his elbow because, ow, _funny bone_ , and staring up at the overcast sky, he heard a whoosh of air, a faint popping sound, then Derek yelling in frustration.

"Did he just vanish into thin air?" Stiles asked, blinking up at Derek as he appeared in his eye-line, hovering awkwardly over Stiles' prone body.

"Get up," Derek urged, tugging at Stiles' arm.

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles groused. Derek's bedside manner could definitely use some work. But between the roaring and the cracked wall it really would be best to vacate the area before any cops arrived. Stiles and Derek both had blood on their shirts, even though it was their own, and it looked like the monster had attacked and possibly killed someone in the general vicinity before Derek had chased it into the alley.

The last thing Stiles wanted to do was spend his Valentine's Day at the police station. That would be even worse than being on a stakeout and getting attacked by a cryptic, bullshitting monster-of-the-week.

Stiles grabbed his baseball bat as he followed Derek back to the car. Between that and his blood-stained shirt, he figured they were fortunate to get to the Camaro without anyone seeing them. At least Derek's shirt was dark enough to hide his blood, which was especially good because there was more of it on him than there was on Stiles.

Of course, the skin underneath Derek's shredded shirt had healed already. Stiles could still feel the stinging spots on his own chest where the monster's claws had sunk in. Not too deep, but he didn't have werewolf healing powers.

He didn't figure now was the time to remind Derek of what a bad idea it had been to bring the human as back-up. Even though he was thinking it so loudly he'd be surprised if Derek didn't hear. To be fair, though, he strongly suspected Derek was thinking the same thing.

"Thanks," Stiles said as Derek opened the car door for him. He tossed his bat in the backseat then flopped down on the passenger side. He tried his best not to get blood on the upholstery but it wasn't as though the Camaro hadn't been bled in before. It wasn't as though Derek hadn't bled in Stiles' Jeep, either.

Derek threw himself behind the wheel and started the engine with no further comment. They traveled in tense silence for long minutes. Even when it became clear that Derek was headed for his place, Stiles remained silent. It wasn't as though he wanted to traipse into his own house all covered in gore, with a werewolf in tow who was even more covered in gore.

Okay, slight exaggeration. But anyway, it was better to go to Derek's place first. Especially since they were going to have to discuss what the monster had said to them. As much as Stiles really, really didn't want to.

Finally, as Derek parked and shut off the engine, Stiles couldn't take it any more.

"Look, just because I think about you sometimes when I masturbate, that doesn't mean I'm in love with you," he blurted out in a rush, not even knowing what words were going to come out of his mouth before he said them.

Of course, once they were out, he was appalled at his errant tongue. He couldn't take them back, and forging onward, he only managed to make things worse. 

"You don't own my heart. I don't belong to anyone but me, you hear?"

And now Derek was looking at him like he'd forgotten how words worked again. Or maybe like Stiles had grown a second head. Yeah, more like that.

"I mean, don't get me wrong," Stiles continued, maybe a little desperately, knowing that his cheeks were flaming with embarrassment and borderline humiliation. Thanks, stupid heart-ripping monster, for outing him to Derek in just about the worst way possible. And never mind the midnight deadline. "I'm happy as hell that this thing didn't tear my heart out because he thought that you... that I... that.... But, dude, just no."

Derek's brows were doing weird wiggly-things that Stiles felt as though he ought to be able to decipher, but he was distracted by the way Derek's little bunny-teeth were showing between his parted lips instead. He looked cute and vulnerable, which was just patently ridiculous because he was actually a big bad wolf, and that was _not_ helping Stiles to deal with any of this insanity right now.

"Um." Stiles bit his lip and it wasn't fair that he was left feeling like the bad guy here, like he might have _hurt Derek's feelings_ or something, when he was the one with a deadly deadline hanging over his head. When _he_ was the one who'd been so tactlessly informed that he was in love with Derek. 

Which, still... _what_?!

"Let's go inside," Derek finally said, and since Stiles didn't have any better ideas, he nodded jerkily and opened his car door.

"This is the last time I let you talk me into being your back-up," he informed Derek crankily as he climbed out of the Camaro. And Derek didn't argue.

***

Derek could smell Stiles' blood as he led him into his home; not enough to be worrisome but enough to have him feeling anxious, on edge.

Or maybe that was the fact that the murderous creature he'd tracked down had declared its intent to come and claim Stiles' heart -- literally -- if a certain _problem_ wasn't taken care of by midnight.

Derek had been aware since they had first met of the fact that Stiles was single and largely untouched. He was also aware that nothing had changed since then. Near-constant frustration and low-grade arousal rolled off the boy in waves, but it had generally been easy enough to ignore. Stiles wasn't the only teen in Derek's life to reek of that, especially whenever Scott and Allison were broken up. This was, however, the first time Derek had been forced to think of it in regards to himself, and the first time he'd really considered it an actual liability. 

Which it wouldn't have been if Derek hadn't brought Stiles along with him today. He really ought to have known better. 

Guilt was a feeling Derek was familiar with; he lived with it every day. But he wasn't used to feeling guilt where Stiles was concerned. He didn't like it. He also really didn't like knowing that the monster he'd tracked down today would be coming for Stiles at midnight if Derek didn't... if the two of them didn't.... Well.

"Come on," he grunted, leading Stiles toward his bathroom. Their first order of business was to deal with the damage to Stiles' chest. Everything else could wait, at least for a while.

"We should call Deaton," Stiles said, though he did at least trail after Derek without argument, already out of his jacket and outer plaid, tossing them over a chair. He was unconsciously rubbing at his chest through the material of his teeshirt, Derek could see out the corner of his eye. He smelled anxious, but not really so much in pain or else Derek would be more concerned. "Find out how to kill this thing."

"We're not using you as bait," Derek snapped, shoving Stiles down to sit on the toilet lid, then hauling out the first aid kit that he kept around mainly for use _on Stiles_ , since werewolves very rarely needed any of the supplies it contained.

"Well, the only other option is--" Stiles broke off with a startled yelp as Derek peeled his teeshirt off over his head. "Hey!"

"Shut up," Derek instructed, peering at the deepest of the cuts on Stiles' chest. It wasn't so bad, had already stopped bleeding, but Derek intended to get all the damage taken care of.

" _You_ shut up," Stiles shot back, scowling. Derek didn't bother pointing out that this hadn't made the slightest amount of sense, because when did Stiles ever make any sense?

Derek unscrewed the disinfectant that he really _did_ keep exclusively for Stiles since werewolf bodies naturally healed themselves of pesky things like infection. Most of Stiles' blood had soaked into his discarded shirt, leaving his chest largely clear, so Derek just applied the disinfectant directly with a fingertip. 

It occurred to him belatedly that he maybe should have washed his hands, but this was _disinfectant_ , right? So it ought to be okay....

Stiles gritted out a curse between clenched teeth, but he seemed more irritated than in actual pain, reacting more to surprise than discomfort. 

"A little warning might be nice," he grumbled. "And I can do this myself. Give me that!"

He made a grab for the tube then flailed as Derek held it away from his reach. Derek placed a hand on Stiles' chest to steady him, and could feel the thump-thump of his heartbeat racing as color soaked into Stiles' cheeks.

"Just hold still," he instructed, trying to sound a little less irritated than he felt since it had been his fault Stiles had been there and had gotten hurt. 

Well, but mainly he was annoyed _because_ Stiles had gotten hurt. And it hadn't even been anything Stiles had done this time, aside from the part where he had agreed to come along with Derek. Which Derek had given him precious little choice on.

So, really, it came down to this being mostly Derek's fault. Something he wasn't comfortable with, but was willing to acknowledge, if only to himself.

"Seriously, though," Stiles pursued as Derek anointed each claw mark with disinfectant, hoping that was going to be enough, "Calling Deaton? Would be the smart thing to do. You said I shouldn't be bait, but how else are we going to get rid of this thing?"

Derek scowled, recapping the tube of disinfectant and setting it aside. "It said something about today being its day," he reminded Stiles. "And all the killings happened between midnight on the thirteenth and now. So it sounds as though it won't be a problem after midnight tonight."

Stiles flapped his arms, causing Derek to take a step back. "Seriously? You're going to leave it free to kill who knows how many more people? And what about next year? Come on, Derek, I know you're more altruistic than that! And even if you're not, you ought to remember that keeping it from ripping my heart out means _we have to bone_!"

Derek scowled, staring at Stiles' chest. None of the cuts had reopened even with his jerky movements so he'd probably be fine without bandaids. Derek could feel those dark eyes fixed accusingly on him, could see the fiery red of Stiles' blush in the corner of his vision, but he kept his head down as he turned and left the bathroom. It wasn't cowardly, it was just pragmatic of him.

"Derek!" Stiles lunged up off the toilet and followed him. "Don't ignore me!"

Derek did ignore Stiles, though, as he peeled off his ruined shirt and grabbed two mostly clean shirts for the two of them off his bed. "Here," he said, thrusting one of the shirts at Stiles. Stiles didn't have werewolf senses, so he might not realize that it hadn't been washed since the last time Derek had worn it. So Derek hoped, anyway.

Stiles was flapping his mouth, those sweetly curving lips moving soundlessly, and it was entirely possible that Derek had noticed how red and lush they were before, but he'd always considered the way Stiles held his mouth open to be more ridiculous than suggestive... right? At least he was pretty sure. 

So when the hell had that changed?

"Well, _I'm_ calling Deaton," Stiles huffed, pulling the shirt on over his head without further comment. Stiles was about the same height as Derek, his shoulders promisingly broad, but he was more slim everywhere else and in the same way Stiles' shirts had been too small for "cousin Miguel", Derek's shirt now was a little too large on Stiles.

He looked good like that, Derek thought with a strange and completely unexpected twinge. Seeing Stiles in his clothes _did_ something to Derek that he preferred not to think too hard about. The sleeves covering the delicate bones of his wrists, the dark material draping over the lines of his chest and belly, his torso more toned and well-muscled than Derek had expected despite knowing that Stiles played lacrosse, but the shirt still loose because Derek had more bulk....

And that was to say nothing of the smell. If he'd been asked previously, Derek would have said that his own scent would have mingled badly with Stiles'... but he would have been wrong. Stiles had sweated off most of his cloying chemical cocktail of body spray and deodorant, and while Derek could smell the anxiety he was radiating he could also breathe in and savor the normal, familiar scent of Stiles. 

As for how and when Stiles' scent had become familiar, Derek wasn't going to dwell on this. He was content to accept it as a fact. 

Stiles had his phone in his hand and he was giving Derek a suspicious look. Derek felt a wave of panic, but then he reminded himself that Stiles couldn't read his mind, and it was unlikely he could make a guess based on Derek's carefully blank expression. So it must be something else.

"You're not going to try to stop me if I call Deaton, are you?" Stiles asked, turning so that his body was between Derek and his phone, even though he was still keeping a close eye on him. "I can't really afford to replace this myself and I don't want to have to tell my Dad I wrecked another phone."

The only phone that Derek really felt he was personally responsible for wrecking was the one that had been sunk in the pool, and if Stiles hadn't insisted on trying to contact Scott it wouldn't have gotten ruined. But he was well aware that Stiles still blamed him for the one Boyd had stepped on, even though he hadn't even been in the same room, and he suspected there were other instances.

"I won't touch your phone," he growled, headed for the kitchen. He wasn't going to be touching Stiles either. He would get them both something to drink, even if it was just water, and then they needed to discuss what they were going to do about the ultimatum that monster had given Stiles. Had given them both, actually. Even if Stiles _did_ get a hold of the good veterinarian and got any info out of him, that was still a conversation that needed to happen.

Stiles wandered after Derek, phone to his ear, his free hand spread over his chest, fingers twitching. He was probably poking at the spots where the monster had clawed him -- like an idiot, Derek thought with a weird sort of exasperated fondness -- but all that Derek saw him doing was rubbing the scent of Derek's shirt into his skin, rubbing his own scent into the shirt, mingling their personal odors together into something new and intriguing. 

Stiles clearly had no idea he was doing it, Derek thought, gritting his teeth together, but that didn't stop Derek's nose from picking up this scent, it didn't stop his fangs from aching in his mouth, and it didn't make him want any less to _smelltouchtaste_....

Huh. Maybe that heart-stealing bastard had been onto something after all. Though Derek still didn't credit that Stiles was in love with him. That was too much for him to swallow. Especially when Stiles so clearly felt the same disbelief over its bold statement that Derek did.

"Hey, Deaton?" Stiles was standing in the middle of Derek's kitchen, wearing one of Derek's shirts, smelling of both of them, and somehow all of this seemed _right_. 

So right that Derek stayed over by the sink, because the only guarantee he had in life was that he would mess this up somehow if he didn't stay in complete control of himself. 

"Look, we have a problem here," Stiles was saying, and he sounded so steady and firm that if Derek hadn't been able to scent the rising anxiety rolling off of him, he might totally have bought it. He kind of doubted Deaton would be fooled, though. "And none of that cryptic bullshit just so you can keep your air of mystery, all right? Because I've got a deadline here and if we don't get your help, I'll be dead at midnight."

Which was a bit extreme when there was an actual solution to the problem, Derek thought, but he sympathized. There was no way that Stiles would want his first time with _anyone_ to be the result of coercion, something done simply to keep him alive, and he probably didn't want it to be with _Derek_ of all people. Even if the monster had been anything close to right -- and Stiles _had_ admitted to jerking off to thoughts of Derek but it was a far cry from masturbatory fantasies to feeling actual _love_ \-- having sex wasn't really an option in this case.

Well, not unless Deaton really completely failed to come through for them. Then they would have to talk it over, in detail, before making any decision. There was no way Derek was letting Stiles die, no matter what they had to do, but Stiles had to actually _want_ it.

Stiles explained the situation to Deaton over the phone, managing to keep the details vague while getting across the gist of what had happened in a manner Derek wouldn't have been able to manage himself and wasn't sure he approved of. Still, Deaton seemed to get what he needed out of it, and after a few minutes Stiles hung up, sighing and scowling.

"Well, the good news is that Deaton's pretty sure he knows what this thing is," he told Derek, stuffing his phone in his jeans pocket and rubbing at his chest again. Their mingled scent washed off of him, warm and tangy, and Derek frowned.

"What's the bad news?"

Stiles' brows rose. "Um, the part where some not-exactly-an-incubus is going to tear my heart out at midnight because it thinks I'm in love or lust with you, and we haven't consummated said love or lust?"

Derek's frown deepened in thought. "So that might be what it was talking about?" he pondered. "Lust rather than love? Is that what Deaton said?"

Stiles snorted. "Oh, come on, don't pretend you weren't listening to both ends of the conversation. You know as well as I do that he _implied_ that, but since I didn't tell him quite the whole story, he doesn't know about that specific part of it."

Derek nodded. That all made a certain amount of sense. And it was certainly easier to deal with than the thought that Stiles was in love with him. Lust Derek could deal with. He was used to people feeling desire when they looked at him, even though that wasn't his aim in keeping his body at peak condition. Love, on the other hand, scared the hell out of him. If only because he'd been burned by it before and was terrified of being the one to do the burning.

If Stiles wasn't in love with him, then Derek couldn't burn him. Right?

That was what Derek resolutely told himself at any rate.

"Does knowing what this is translate into knowing how to kill it?" Derek asked, because contrary to what Stiles thought, he had _not_ been listening in on Deaton's side of the conversation. 

He'd been distracted by the unexpected desire to touch Stiles, when normally he touched Stiles less than he did anyone else. For the first time, really, he began to wonder about that. Having been raised as part of a large werewolf family Derek was a tactile person. Even though things had gotten horrible in the last six years -- or maybe _because_ they'd gotten horrible -- Derek felt the instinctive and overpowering need to put his hands on the members of his pack. Including Scott, even though Scott continually rejected him.

But Stiles was different. Not because he was human. Not because he wasn't pack. It was because he was... Stiles. That was what confounded Derek and that was why he hadn't listened in to Stiles' conversation with Deaton. Derek was seriously trying to figure out when Stiles had come to mean so much to him without his even realizing it. Because it certainly hadn't been anything he had ever actively noticed.

Especially considering the fact that he and Stiles hadn't gotten along most of the time. Stiles had helped Derek in the past, sure, but it was usually with the end goal of helping Scott. He'd talked several times about killing Derek; though admittedly only when it would have been the most pragmatic course of action, and back before they had spent much time together.

On the other hand, Stiles had done his best more than once or twice to keep Derek alive. Most notably in the pool, where he hadn't let Derek sink until Derek had goaded him to it, then had come back for him and held him up until his human body had given out, after two hours of exertion. 

It was hardly surprising that Stiles was an active contradiction, at least in his dealings with Derek. And there was something to be said for getting to know one another better. They didn't exactly spend "quality" time together, but they couldn't be thrown together as often as they were and still remain strangers, antagonists. Especially not when they both so often wanted the same thing.

Usually it was Derek or Scott who was in danger, due to their being werewolves. Now it was Stiles, who was in danger... due to being a _virgin_ , of all things. 

It had been Derek's fault Stiles had been in that alley, though, which meant that it was on him to find a solution as much as it was on Stiles, if not more so.

"Deaton has to do some research," Stiles was saying in answer to his question. "He said he'd get back to me as quickly as possible. Definitely before midnight. But he said that an incubus can be killed and this thing is similar, so he's pretty sure he'll find something."

Derek nodded, relieved. While he wasn't happy about the thought of Stiles acting as bait, he didn't want the teen to feel as though he was being forced into anything either. It was one thing to think about someone while jerking off, and something else entirely to be forced into a sexual situation without any actual choice in the matter.

Stiles fidgeted, and Derek belatedly held out the bottle of water he was holding. 

"Thanks," Stiles mumbled, unscrewing the cap. Derek fixated on those long, lean fingers. Stiles had a lot of strength for a human, even if he tried to play it down. Derek tended to forget that because, well, _human_. Of all the wolves in Beacon Hills, Derek was the last one who should underestimate a human just for being human -- there had been humans in his family, not to mention the fact that a human had _killed_ his family -- but Stiles just seemed to invite miscalculation. He constantly undervalued himself and put forward an air of general incompetence that extended contact proved to be anything but actual, whether he was aware of this himself or not.

Derek would never tell Stiles any of this to his face, of course. But that didn't mean he didn't recognize and acknowledge it.

"So now we wait," Stiles said, when Derek didn't say anything. "Until Deaton calls."

Derek could hear the tension in Stiles' voice, even though he was clearly trying to hide it. He hadn't learned yet that it was impossible to lie to a being with enhanced senses. Especially Derek.

"Do you want to go get dinner?" Derek found himself asking. The words seemed weird and awkward on his lips, but he meant them, and it _was_ dinner time. Even with the threat of death hanging over his head Stiles was a teenage boy and he needed to eat.

"Sure," Stiles said, giving Derek a strange look, then grabbing his jacket. "You're paying through, since the whole stakeout thing was your idea."

Derek grimaced, but Stiles did have a point so he didn't protest, just led the way back outside.

"Oh, hey," Stiles said brightly as they both got into the Camaro, his lips curving in a grin that surely heralded some pending barb that Derek wasn't going to want to hear, "I guess I do have a date for Valentine's Day after all; we both do!"

Really? Of all the things he could have said, that was what he went with? Derek simply shook his head and fought the bizarre urge to grin at Stiles in return. He wasn't going to agree, but he couldn't really argue either.

Stiles blushed as soon as he seemed to process what he had said, but he didn't take it back. He buckled his seatbelt and settled in, looking more sleepy and contented than someone with a deadline for getting his heart ripped out ought to look. The scent of his body mingling with the musk of Derek's borrowed shirt was beginning to fill up the car, teasing at Derek's nose in all the best, all the most wrong ways. 

Derek didn't roll down the window, though, as he drove them to a diner on the edge of town. It might be a weakness on his part, but he really did find this smell intoxicating and he wanted to keep it all to himself.

It was probably a disaster of epic proportions that he was beginning to imagine what their combined spunk might smell like.

And the hell of was that he wasn't sure whether to blame the not-incubus... or just his own treacherous mind. At least he could be fairly certain that none of this was Stiles' fault.

Probably.

***

Derek was acting weird, but Stiles just chalked it up to guilt over having dragged Stiles out to get targeted for having his heart ripped out. 

And probably not a little embarrassment over discovering that Stiles jerked it to thoughts of his wolfy hotness. But Stiles was trying to forget about that part of it. He _really_ wanted to forget he had ever said anything about that.

It was true, of course. And Derek didn't need to know that he was probably the only one that Stiles really thought about anymore. It had used to be other people, all the prettiest people that Stiles dealt with or simply saw on a daily basis, he actually wasn't that picky, he was a sixteen year old boy. Not Lydia, though, which would probably have surprised anyone who knew of his epic love for her. But she had always seemed too untouchable. He could barely imagine the flicker of her hair on his skin, much less anything more... carnal.

Derek, on the other hand. Derek smelled like _man_ , like clean sweat and dirty skin, like the forest but also like the bedroom at the same time, like everything that Stiles liked about guys and nothing at all like a girl. He didn't wear cologne, which made sense with the super-sniffer, and Stiles could understand his complaint about the body spray Stiles had put on earlier. But he'd been thinking about the fact that he'd be in an enclosed space with Derek for an extended period, had thought about things like nervous perspiration, and he hadn't stopped to consider that maybe too much would be really _way_ too much.

And it wasn't just Derek's scent. There was his body; it would have taken a hard core lesbian not to find his muscles and stubble impelling. Or a really straight guy, Stiles supposed, but even someone like Scott would see the value in looking the way Derek did. Not just his arms and legs and that _torso_ , but also his cheekbones and jaw, his wide-set eyes with pale irises and dark lashes, his full lips and the way he somehow managed to have little bunny teeth and actual fangs even when he wasn't wolfed out, both at the same time....

Stiles could have written essays detailing the things he found attractive about Derek Hale, but he never would, because no one else needed to know what was going on inside his head. He had to deal with enough humiliation on a daily basis as it was; adding to it wasn't on his agenda.

Although, having a supernatural creeper tell Derek that Stiles' heart "belonged" to him.... Well, there wasn't really much that could top that. Unless Stiles counted the fact that he'd then blurted out the fact that he fantasized about Derek when he jerked off. Which had been completely on him and, ha-ha, completely _awesome_ only _not at all_.

Stiles was a master at the art of ignoring a problem until it went away. Granted, that hadn't been an option when Scott had become a werewolf. Stiles had been pretty proactive then, on top of things in order to keep his friend out of trouble and out of danger. But when it came to pretending that he hadn't told Derek anything so incredibly embarrassing, that was Stiles' plan, and he hoped that Derek would be generous enough to do the same.

Honestly, Stiles couldn't quite believe that Derek was treating him to a meal out. But he had the good sense to keep any "last meal" references from spilling out. Derek might not show it in normal ways, but he was clearly feeling at least a little guilty for what had happened, for being the one to insist that Stiles come along with him in looking for the monster. Which, yeah, _had_ been his fault, but Stiles actually didn't want to rub it in, for some reason.

It showed in the way Derek had been quieter and more gentle with Stiles than his norm. In the way he had treated Stiles' wounds -- well, okay, the shallow cuts in his chest but those could totally be termed "wounds" -- instead of just shoving the first aid kit at Stiles and making him do it himself. In the way he was now sitting across the table from Stiles in an out-of-the-way diner and scowling at the menu.

This was most decidedly not how Stiles thought his Valentine's Day would go. But then, if he wasn't here, he'd be at home dicking around on the internet, maybe jerking off a few times and trying not to think about what a loser he was.

He was sixteen. He was in the prime of his youth. Everyone he knew, aside from parents and Derek, had a date for the holiday. Even creeper Peter. And Stiles' day had so far consisted of a stakeout, five slices in his chest, and now the threat of death looming over his head.

Well, death if he didn't have sex with Derek. But that was one of those things Stiles resolutely wasn't thinking about. 

Not because he didn't want to have sex with Derek. It would be ridiculous to pretend that he didn't want _that_. 

But because he knew that Derek didn't want it. 

He couldn't do that to Derek. It would have been just about the coolest thing in the world if Derek had wanted to sex Stiles up because he _wanted_ Stiles! But that wasn't what was going on here. That damned not-incubus was trying to railroad them into having sex, and there was no way that Stiles was going to do that to Derek.

Derek already had more than enough trust issues for one lifetime. Stiles had some strong suspicions about what might have happened between Derek and Kate Argent six years ago, back when Derek had been Stiles' age. He had no way to prove his suspicions, but he didn't really want to. It made him feel sick to think about what might have happened.... And it certainly gave Derek good reason not to get involved with anyone who was now the age he had been at the time.

Though why Derek kept biting and turning teenagers if that had been the case, Stiles thought despairingly, was beyond him. But it would have been completely weird for Derek to be the Alpha to a pack of people older than him, right? 

Not that Stiles had any idea what it was like to be an Alpha. Or a werewolf. Creepy Uncle Peter had offered, back when he'd been all rogue but before the evil goatee of villainy had marked his resurrection. Stiles still didn't regret turning him down. Thinking about having _Peter_ as his Alpha.... He shuddered. Bad enough Peter had technically been Scott's Alpha. 

Was he still considered Scott's Alpha now, though? Since he wasn't an Alpha anymore? Scott had certainly made it clear that Derek wasn't his Alpha. But Stiles didn't think Derek had meant it literally when he had called Scott an Alpha of his own pack, that one time. For one thing, Scott's eyes were still gold, not red. For another, Stiles didn't think Scott could turn anyone by biting them. Not that Scott had gone around biting people, but still....

"Stiles."

Derek was now scowling at Stiles rather than the menu, and Stiles became aware that the waitress was standing beside the table, pad and pen in hand, waiting to take his order. He hoped he hadn't been spacing out for too long.

"Um, a burger," he said, since he hadn't so much as glanced at his menu and a hamburger was usually a safe bet, especially in a diner with a grill. "With bacon. And cheese. So I guess a bacon cheeseburger? And fries. Do you have curly fries?"

The answer was no, they didn't, so Stiles ordered regular fries and a chocolate milkshake, because if this was going to be his last meal, he was going to do it right. Also, Derek was paying.

It felt really strange to be sitting across the table from Derek, Stiles thought, fidgeting in his seat. Especially when he was wearing one of Derek's shirts. It smelled like Derek, and Stiles flushed as a waft of that powerful masculine scent flew up his nose when he shifted, causing a corresponding surge of heat in his dick. Not exactly ideal, when Derek was _sitting across from him_.

"Do you come here often?" Stiles asked, suddenly desperate as the silence grew too thick and his threatening boner didn't die down, not even with the thought that he might be dying horribly at midnight tonight. He wished that their food would arrive so that he had something to do with his twitching fingers other than pluck at the hem of his shirt. Well, _Derek's_ shirt.

Derek's brows rose, his expression clearly stating that he couldn't believe Stiles had just asked him that.

"Come on, it's a legitimate question," Stiles protested, waving his hands around and nearly upsetting the glass of water the waitress had brought them. "I've been wondering if you cook, you know? Or if you just eat out all the time. And what you might eat. It wasn't a lame come-on or anything, which would be kind of pointless anyway since we're already here, together."

Derek was frowning now, looking almost confused. It was kind of an adorable look on him, but Stiles wasn't about to share this thought either.

"You seriously spend time thinking about where and what I eat?" Derek asked, gazing at Stiles as though he could puzzle him out if he tried hard enough. Hah, good luck, buddy. Even Stiles hadn't figured Stiles out, and he'd known himself his whole life.

Stiles shrugged. "Sure, why not? It's one of the basic bodily functions, after all. Everyone's got to eat."

Derek's face did something funny when Stiles said the words "bodily function" but considering the way their day had been going, Stiles resolutely did not think about why, or what that expression meant. He wasn't going to tell Derek that he sometimes wondered if he went hunting on the Preserve in his Alpha form, eating deer and bunnies. And he _definitely_ wasn't going to share his pondering over the question of Derek's sex life and what it might include and whether he jerked off and how that might be different than the way Stiles jerked off, what his cock might look like....

Great, now Derek was looking at him like he _knew_ what Stiles was thinking about, and the rising hard-on he had thinking about Derek playing with himself wasn't helping any. Not only were they in a freaking diner, but Derek had that werewolf super-sniffer. It was probably a pretty good bet that he could smell Stiles' boner, even if he maybe, hopefully didn't realize the reason for it.

On the other hand, how hard could it be to guess the reason? Crap. Stiles was so screwed. And not in the way that not-incubus wanted him to be!

Stiles was saved from the awkwardness of the moment by the arrival of their plates, which hadn't taken long at all. Stiles dug into his burger, suddenly realizing he was famished, grateful for both the food and the distraction, and was halfway through his meal before he even looked up.

Derek had one brow raised, looking a terrifying amount like Peter, to be honest. Stiles swallowed and tried to fight back a flush of embarrassment. "What?" he asked.

Shaking his head, Derek picked up his own burger. "Nothing," he replied, and Stiles was pretty sure he was _smiling_ as he took a bite, but he couldn't prove it. 

He offered to share his milkshake with Derek, which he thought was pretty generous, and when Derek turned it down they finished their meal in silence, but it wasn't really too awkward. Stiles could feel his sensations of discomfort and urgency slip away as his stomach filled up. 

Some of it came back when his phone rang, and he answered it while Derek took care of the bill. 

"That was Deaton," he said unnecessarily, putting his phone away. "He's got something. We just need to stop by the clinic to pick it up and get instructions."

Derek grunted and they left the diner. Stiles resolutely told himself he wasn't feeling a pang of regret that he was losing a world class reason to have sex with Derek Hale. He'd already gone over and internally acknowledged all the reasons in his head that it was a Bad Idea.

It was just that.... The Derek Hale that was driving Stiles to the Veterinary Clinic was completely different than the dark, glowering man who had stared menacingly at Stiles through the mesh of the police car, back when Scott and Stiles had gotten Derek arrested for murdering his own sister. 

Sure, Derek was gruff and surly, and he'd been occasionally violent toward Stiles early on, but Stiles had learned that underneath his gruffness, Derek actually did care. After all, back when Stiles had climbed into the police car, filled with questions for the first real werewolf he had seen who wasn't his recently turned best friend, Derek had tried to talk to him about helping Scott. Even if it had been mostly in an effort to protect his own secret, Derek's first instinct was always to protect those he considered pack, and Stiles could empathize with that. Stiles would do just about anything it might take to keep those he cared about safe.

He sort of had to wonder if he was one of those people to Derek. Even though he wasn't pack.... Well, Derek had attacked the not-incubus, more than once, when it had been after Stiles and his delicious "unclaimed" heart, right? And Stiles liked to think that this had been an instinctive response and not just because Derek felt responsible for his being there.

Then again, it might just have been that thing they did, where they seemed to take turns rescuing each other. Stiles wasn't sure who was ahead right now, but he suspected it was him. And Derek was just as bad at showing gratitude as Stiles was.

"Are you okay?" Derek asked, as they turned onto the last block before the Veterinary Clinic, and he sounded honestly concerned. At least a little, if not a huge amount.

Stiles turned startled eyes to Derek, then realized with embarrassment and no small amount of horror that he'd been chewing on the sleeve of the shirt he'd borrowed from Derek. He spat it out quickly, trying to smooth out the damp material. Of all the times for his oral fixation to flare up.... But then, it tended to do so when he was most stressed, and whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not, he was still in danger of having his heart freaking torn out.

"Fine, I'm fine," he blurted, licking his lips and clenching his fingers around the mistreated sleeve. He thought that he could taste Derek on his tongue, even though it was probably his imagination, and he experienced another surge of rolling arousal. Dammit, he was looking forward to killing that stupid not-incubus. There was only so much humiliation a sixteen year old boy could take in one day, and he was afraid that any minute Derek was either going to threaten to tear his throat out with his teeth, or else swear never to have anything to do with him again.

It was telling that he found the latter possibility far more chilling.

"Sorry," he said, and he sort of meant for getting turned on but he pretended it was about the sleeve he'd been gnawing on. "I'll wash this before I give it back."

Derek was glaring out the windshield as he parked, his knuckles white where his hands were clenched on the steering wheel, and Stiles wondered if this was it, if he was about to be blown off forever and left to deal with the monster on his own.

"You don't have to," Derek said, and his jaw was tight so the words came out kind of tight as well. 

Stiles blinked, lashes flickering, raising the sleeve to his nose and inhaling the not-damp part. He didn't mean to; it was just kind of an instinctive action. He was sort of wondering if Derek had said what he'd said because the shirt hadn't exactly been clean when he'd given it to Stiles. It wasn't, like, reeking of Derek's sweat or anything, but Stiles could smell Derek on it, and he was pretty sure that it hadn't been laundered in a while.

He wasn't upset by this. In fact, he found it incredibly sexy. But seated inside the Camaro with Derek, in an enclosed space where Derek would be able to easily pick up on his growing arousal, was a really bad time to be feeling that way.

He could see Derek's nostrils flare even though he still wasn't looking in Stiles' direction, and there was a flush to the ridge of his cheekbone and the tip of the ear that Stiles could see, even though the evening was getting dim as the sun rapidly set.

"We should... we should go inside," Stiles said before Derek could explode in anger or whatever strange emotion had him in its grip. "The sooner we figure out how to kill this thing, the better I'll feel."

Derek gave a choppy nod and they exited the car, walking around to the back door of the building, as Deaton had specified when he had called Stiles. The front was all closed up, which made sense, Stiles figured, considering that Scott was off with Allison, no doubt having a fun, sex-filled day, without a clue that his best friend had been given an ultimatum involving... well, involving the state of Stiles' heart and the placement of Derek's dick. And possibly getting his heart _ripped out and eaten_.

Not that Stiles really _wanted_ Scott to know about that. Or anyone other than Derek. In fact, he'd be thrilled if Derek didn't know, but it was too late for that.

Derek knew and he was tense as Deaton let them into the clinic, in a way he hadn't been while they'd been eating at the diner. Stiles wondered what the difference was, but he wasn't about to ask, and besides, Deaton was talking to them now.

"So, I hear you have a problem."

Stiles snorted, folding his arms. "I'd say that's the understatement of the century," he replied, even though he honestly shouldn't have expected anything else from Deaton. 

Deaton took this in stride, simply nodding and ushering them further inside. Stiles found he was clutching the sleeve of Derek's shirt in his fingers, holding it under his nose again, as Deaton began outlining their best course of action. It was a comfort thing, he decided, even though he'd never known before that the smell of Derek was comforting to him. 

He didn't dare to look at Derek once he realized what he was doing, instead chewing on his lower lip and trying _really hard_ to concentrate on what Deaton was saying, because it was kind of vital to his continued existence.

Derek sounded tense and unhappy when he replied to Deaton's questions, and Stiles felt like frowning but instead he did his best to keep his face expressionless, the way Derek usually did. Stoic. Strong. Not at all like someone who needed rescuing, yeah? He could save his own ass. He was no damsel in distress.

Which was an attitude that was all the more important when Deaton made it clear that Stiles was the only one who was going to be able to take this not-incubus out. 

"No," Derek growled.

"Why?" Stiles wanted to know, brows rising, tugging self-consciously at the sleeve he'd been mauling.

Derek glowered at him, all fierce and dark and way too hot to handle. Dammit.

"It's too dangerous," he snapped, giving Stiles the angry-face, which was completely unfair as far as Stiles was concerned, because he hadn't asked to be placed in this situation.

"The only other option is that you fuck me. And I don't see you leaping to do that!" Stiles shot back, hands on his hips, face flaming, before he thought to realize why this was a _really bad idea_.

"Ah," Deaton exhaled, as though he'd been suddenly illuminated, and Stiles felt his cheeks burn, wished that he could melt into a puddle of abject humiliation on the floor.

"Crap."

Derek just sighed and rolled his eyes, as though he was so horribly put upon. Stiles kind of wanted to punch him in the face. But even more, he wanted to jump on him and lick his way into Derek's mouth. This hadn't really been an issue before, because Stiles had been able to keep his reality separate from his masturbatory fantasies. But now it was as though the wall had been broken down. Maybe it was because Derek now knew about the lusting and the longing. Maybe it had been sitting on Derek's toilet lid while Derek tended his wounds. Maybe it was because he was standing here wearing Derek's shirt. Maybe it was something else entirely.

Whatever the reason, though, Stiles was having a hard time letting go his previously private feelings for Derek. He still maintained that it was more lust than love, but he _had_ come to like and respect Derek, even though it had been a long, rough road to get here... and sometimes he still didn't like Derek very much, like when he was being an asshole.

"Does that change anything?" Stiles asked Deaton anxiously, since Derek didn't seem inclined to contribute to the conversation in any way. It really did wonders for a guy's ego, Stiles thought, that Derek was so obviously put out at the idea of having sex with him.

Not that he expected Derek would be jumping at the chance. But a little more internal conflict might be more flattering....

"Not really," Deaton replied, which was pretty much the best Stiles could hope for, even though he was still completely nervous about what was going to happen. "Although next time it would be best if you tell me everything up front."

"There won't be a next time," Derek growled, even though Stiles was pretty sure all three of them knew there was probably going to be a next time.

Derek's lips were tightly pressed together, and so Stiles made the executive decision to do what he did best; ignore the problem and move on with the solution.

"All right, Doc, tell me what I gotta do," he said, sucking in a deep breath and raising his chin. He would do this and he would do it right. And then no one else would get their hearts ripped out just because they were lonely. 

And most importantly, _Stiles_ wouldn't get _his_ heart ripped out. That was really what he was going for here.

So Deaton told him and Derek growled but Stiles could do this, he knew he could do this.

He kind of _had_ to do this. It wasn't like he had any real choice.

Besides, Stiles kind of liked the idea of being able to save himself.

***

Finding and killing the monster that had targeted Stiles was kind of anticlimactic in the end, Derek had to admit.

It didn't go completely smoothly and wasn't without its dangers, of course, because nothing was ever easy. And Deaton had neglected to warn them that this particular being _exploded_ upon death. If Derek had been feeling generous he'd maybe have assumed that Deaton hadn't known, but it was hard to feel generous when both he and Stiles were covered in blood and intestines.

Stiles looked a little shell-shocked. Derek couldn't tell if it was because he'd actually managed to drive the silver thorn -- two feet long but still shaped like a thorn -- into the creature's heart, whether it was because he was covered in gore and guts, or if it was because the not-incubus had told Derek essentially the same thing it had told Stiles earlier when it had tried and failed to take the Alpha werewolf's heart.

Derek wasn't so sure about that latter, the same as he hadn't been sure about what it had said to Stiles, but now it was out there and couldn't be taken back, and they both had something very serious to talk about.

Once they weren't covered in exploded monster innards, that was.

"My place is closer," Stiles said, wrapping the silver thorn in a large square of tattered linen that Deaton had said to keep around it when he wasn't using it, both to disguise its nature and to keep him from puncturing himself on its incredibly sharp tip. "And my Dad's going to be out late, investigating this bastard's killings."

He grimaced as he said this, and Derek felt himself echoing the expression. Yes, they'd managed to destroy the not-incubus before nine in the evening -- by driving around town until Derek scented it again, then luring it with Stiles' evidently tasty unclaimed heart and virgin body -- but there were at least five or six people in Beacon Hills who had been alive yesterday and who were dead now simply because they had been alone and single.

Derek did feel a little bad about that, but they'd taken the creature out a good three hours before the midnight deadline it had given Stiles so maybe they'd saved a life or two. And, as Stiles had pointed out, now there was no danger of this thing starting its killing spree again next year.

Most importantly, though, it wasn't going to be ripping Stiles' heart out of his body.

"Do you want me to drop you off?" he asked, peeling away his blood-drenched jacket and shirt and tossing them in the trunk, not caring that they were in a residential area. Having a bare chest was better than looking as though he'd gone on a killing spree. His face, hands, and jeans were still spattered with crimson, and he really hoped he didn't get pulled over before he got washed off, but it was too dangerous to wander around looking for a house with a hose they could used.

"No, you can shower at my place," Stiles said, following his example. The claw marks on Derek's chest from when the not-incubus had tried to take his heart just now were already healed over, but he could see the scabs forming on Stiles' torso. Derek didn't like that the bastard had marked Stiles, but there was nothing he could do about it after the fact.

"All right," he agreed, because the sooner he got this crap off of him the better he was going to feel. Physically. He was still going to have to deal with the fact that the monster had told him in no uncertain terms that his own heart was given to someone else but remained unclaimed, the same as it had told Stiles.

That was when it had tried to rip it out of his body, not backing off the way it had done with Stiles, angry and impatient and snarling in Derek's face, and _that_ was the moment Stiles had seized, stabbing the freak deeply enough that, even though he had approached it from behind, the tip of the silver thorn had pierced its heart.

And that had been when it had _exploded_. On both of them equally, since it'd had Derek pinned and Stiles had been right behind it.

But the important thing was that it was dead and gone. No longer threatening to rip Stiles' heart out, no longer a danger to him. That was what Derek clung to as they both got into the Camaro and he drove them to the Stilinski house, grateful that it was February and the day ended early. It was dark enough that none of the other drivers or the pedestrians that they passed seemed to notice that he and Stiles were both shirtless and covered in streaks of drying blood.

Derek parked in the driveway, alongside the battered blue Jeep that Stiles was inordinately proud of, and they slouched their way up to the front door. The porch light was on, but none of the neighbors were evident, thank God. Still, the sooner they got inside, the safer Derek would feel.

"Why couldn't it have been full of glitter?" Stiles bemoaned as he unlocked the front door. "Or confetti? Why did it have to be full of actual guts?"

Derek snorted. "Do you think it would have been easier trying to wash off glitter?" he asked.

Stiles stared at him a moment, big brown eyes ringed with caked blood, his sharp jaw smeared with a thicker substance that didn't bear much thinking on, then he cackled with laughter.

"No, you're right," he replied, still snickering as he led the way toward the bathroom. "Glitter is a royal bitch to get off; gets in all the cracks and stays there!"

Derek raised a brow. "Should I ask how you know that?"

"Should I ask how _you_ do?" Stiles shot back, glancing at Derek over his shoulder as he washed his hands in the sink. "I'm the one who's still in high school and in the experimentation stage of my life."

"Because I was never sixteen," Derek grumbled facetiously, rolling his eyes. He wondered why Stiles was using the sink when there was a shower right there, but then Stiles was grabbing clean towels with his freshly washed hands, setting them on the lid of the toilet and pointing. 

"You go first," he said, eyes bright but face unreadable. "Since you're the guest."

Derek frowned. "You should shower first," he replied as evenly as he was able. "Since it was my fault you were involved in this in the first place."

"Ah-hah!" Stiles crowed, face lighting up. "So you admit it!"

Derek huffed.

"No, but seriously," Stiles continued earnestly, "You have to be smelling this reek more than I am." He poked at the biggest streak of blood on his chest, drawing Derek's attention to his pale skin, his pebbled nipples, his firm pectorals, the little cuts starred around his heart....

"Stiles," Derek growled, dragging his gaze away from Stiles' chest and meeting his eyes. "Get in the shower."

Suddenly Stiles' heartbeat rachetted up, and Derek felt bad for growling at him when he'd nearly been killed today, but he wasn't about to apologize and that was okay because Stiles' next words both explained the rise in his pulse and stunned Derek speechless.

"We could shower together," Stiles said, his voice coming out a little hesitant, a little husky, but serious. He meant the suggestion.

When Derek didn't say anything at all to this, mostly because he couldn't bring any coherent words into his mind, Stiles seemed to grow bolder -- though the waves of nervous perspiration rolling off of him belied this appearance -- and he took a step into Derek's personal space. 

"I know that sounds like the set up to a full-on porno scene," he murmured, eyes alight, his lower lip catching between his teeth where he had already been worrying at it until it was raw and red. "But just think of it like being in a locker room."

Derek didn't bother pointing out that he'd been homeschooled, and he wasn't about to mention the times he'd been in the Beacon Hills High locker room recently, because Stiles didn't need to know any of that. 

Stiles smelled good, now, the anxiety fading into arousal, and now that all the crises were behind them Derek was painfully aware of the fact that Stiles used thoughts of him as masturbatory fodder. 

He couldn't un-know that, so maybe he should deal with it and do something about it.

After all, if that not-incubus whose insides they were both now wearing like war paint had been correct, Derek evidently had the same feelings for Stiles that Stiles had for him. Which, if that was the case, how had that stupid monster gotten off telling each of them that their hearts remained "unclaimed"? Just because they hadn't yet jumped into bed together?

It seemed a pretty trivial technicality to get hung up on, Derek thought in annoyance. But then, if that was the reason that Stiles was still alive -- since it was what had evidently caused the not-incubus to pause the first time he'd attempted to rip Stiles' heart out -- then Derek probably shouldn't be complaining.

While Derek was pondering, Stiles gave vent to a huge sigh, then turned and got the water going in the shower stall. Hot and steamy and very tempting when Derek could feel the crackle of dry blood that wasn't his own itching all over his skin.

"Well, you can stand there and look constipated until I'm done," Stiles informed Derek, giving him a strange look as he skinned off his jeans and underwear, tossing them in the sink, "Or you can join me. The offer is open; there's room enough for both of us in here."

Derek was treated to a mighty fine view of Stiles' ass as he turned and stepped into the shower, seemingly comfortable with his nudity, but maybe he really _had_ managed to convince himself this was like the locker room. 

It really wasn't. 

Derek growled quietly to himself, fighting the rising desire to get that tight young ass in his hands and _squeeze_ , to push into the small shower stall with Stiles and muscle up against that lithe young body, get his scent all over Stiles and soak in Stiles' scent in turn....

Okay, so maybe the not-incubus had been more right than Derek had previously wanted to admit.

Stiles was human and as such he was weak. But he was also strong. No, he wasn't a werewolf. But he was young and fit and smart and proactive. Derek would never tell him any of that, of course, but the truth was that Stiles did what he wanted and he did what was best and most of the time he did it well... and Derek respected that. Even if sometimes he didn't realize he did until after the fact.

It was unlikely that any other human Derek knew would have kept his paralyzed body afloat for two hours, whether they needed him to survive or not. Stiles was something special and he didn't even really seem to know it.

And right now Stiles was in the shower, making practically obscene noises of pleasure as the hot water sluiced over his bare skin, rinsing off the gore and sweat... and he'd explicitly _invited_ Derek to join him.

Honestly, though, in the end it was the fact that while he was washing away the monster's blood Stiles was also washing off the faint scent of Derek that had rubbed off on him from his borrowed shirt which finally got Derek moving.

He stripped off his own jeans, taking his cue from Stiles and setting them in the sink, because blood stains in the Sheriff's bathroom couldn't possibly be a good thing, and then drew in a deep breath before opening the shower door.

Stiles peered at him through starred lashes, eyes dark, pale body sheeted with hot water, cheeks flushed a vibrant pink. Derek wasn't familiar with Stiles' cock -- yet -- but even so he could tell it was at least half hard, standing out proud and even more flushed than his cheeks from a bush of wiry curls that made Derek's fingers itch with the desire to touch, made him want nothing more than he wanted to bury his nose there and just breathe.

"Get in before the bathmat gets drenched," Stiles instructed, evidently planning to ignore his own mild arousal. Or maybe he just cared that much about his bathmat.

Derek did as instructed, but he wasn't about to ignore anything, most especially not Stiles' arousal. Stiles hadn't been wrong about the shower stall being big enough for both of them, but he hadn't exactly been right either. Two full-sized men fit... barely. Still, Derek felt no shame whatsoever as he crowded Sties back against the wall opposite the showerhead so that he could get at the water. 

His own naked body was brushing up against Stiles' naked body in little flashes of heated flesh on heated flesh, and Derek's cock wasn't unaffected, but before he did anything else, he ducked his head underneath the shower spray in order to rid himself of the majority of the not-incubus' blood. There was really nothing sexy about the stink of a monster's insides, even though everything else about this situation was almost unbearably sexy.

Stiles made a little squeaking sound as Derek's thigh brushed against his own, and Derek would almost have felt sorry for him, plastered against the wall the way he was, but he didn't. Stiles moved like prey and smelled like sex, and he had courted this.

"This is nothing like a locker room," Derek informed him, voice low, not trying to hide the rasp of arousal. He turned under the water, letting it pound against the nape of his neck, sluice down the tattoo between his shoulderblades, as he loomed over Stiles. Yes, they were about the same height, but Derek had long since perfected looming, and it was more predatory than threatening. There were other ways to menace Stiles, and one really good reason to do so.

Stiles swallowed, licking his lips. They were bright red, glistening with the water sheeted over both their bodies, with his own saliva, and Derek wanted to _taste_ them. 

In moments like this, when Stiles was quiet and mostly still, Derek was able to appreciate the fact that the boy was actually _pretty_ ; all big brown eyes, cupid's bow lips, and pale skin flushed pink with arousal. 

He was fairly certain that Stiles had no idea of his own attraction, which made it all the more tempting. It wasn't as though Stiles had no self confidence. But some of that, Derek thought, was more bravado than anything else, and most of it was misplaced. 

That wasn't to say that Stiles' quick intelligence, impressive researching skills, and ability to bounce back weren't important. Because they were. But there was also the pleasing aspect of his physical appearance, and Derek didn't think Stiles had any real awareness of that. Not the way he constantly downplayed it at the same time he sought reassurance in all the wrong places.

And he definitely had no idea what he smelled like, or what he smelled like in combination with Derek. Not with his puny human senses.

Derek had gotten a preview when Stiles had been wearing his shirt, and he wanted more. He wanted to cover Stiles in his scent, wallow all over Stiles' body and glory in the way their scents combined on Stiles' skin. And not just by lending him another shirt. He wanted to touch Stiles everywhere, mouth at him, bite and tongue his smooth skin, and then come on him and rub it in.

What he did do, now, in the shower, was lean into Stiles' space, propping his forearm against the wall next to the boy's head. He might have felt a little guilty hogging the hot water, but he could feel Stiles' body radiating heat against his front, so he didn't really feel _very_ guilty. Stiles was clean enough now, and it was time to get him dirty all over again, Derek's way.

"Nothing like the locker room," Stiles repeated breathlessly, and he seemed to be agreeing with Derek, but his mouth was hanging open, his teeth white, his tongue pink, begging for Derek dive inside with his own tongue, and his eyes were heavy-lidded and dark with mounting desire, so Derek didn't feel his mind was fully on what he was saying. 

Even if he couldn't smell the arousal now rolling off of Stiles in rich, heady waves, Derek could feel the blazing length of his growing hard-on, pressing against his upper thigh where he was pushing relentlessly into Stiles' space. His own cock was filling out, fat and thick, butting up against Stiles the same way the rest of him was. Demanding and unapologetic.

Stiles' tongue flickered over his lips again, a familiar nervous gesture. It had never before filled Derek with this much sizzling need, but to be fair this was really the first time he'd let himself openly _want_.

Derek was still glad that they'd killed the not-incubus, but he sort of thought that he owed it his thanks for making sure that he and Stiles were both on the same page at the same time... only not really at all, because it had _tried to kill Stiles_.

"Now, see," Stiles breathed out, his cheeks burning red, his chin tipping up, his eyes practically closed, that delicious mouth never shutting, "If you'd tried this on Bungalon at the station instead of that smarmy grin, maybe you would have gotten... well, no, you'd probably have gotten punched in the face. But let me tell you, this method of seduction is a lot more effective than--"

"Stiles," Derek interrupted, because Stiles was a lot more attractive when he wasn't talking, "Shut up."

And since he knew that there was no way Stiles was going to do so voluntarily, and in fact Derek telling him to do so would more than likely result in the opposite result, he closed the last of the dwindling space between them and slanted his mouth over Stiles' parted lips.

Not surprisingly, Stiles was already saying something as he made this move, but Derek muffled his words without any hesitation or regret. There was no _room_ for either hesitation or regret here in this tiny, steam-filled shower stall, not with Stiles' hot body pressed increasingly more closely against his own, his mouth opening up underneath Derek's like he was made for this. 

Stiles' kiss was everything that his mouth had promised; wet, hot, and never still. Derek slid his tongue in, slick and smooth, and with only an instant of hesitation Stiles' tongue lapped against his own, exploring with growing boldness. Derek had known that Stiles was a fast learner and it was gratifying to find it applied here. Though, if he was painfully honest, he also liked the obvious inexperience, the possessive part of him gratified in knowing that no one had been here before him.

Derek was still propped against the wall, weight resting on his forearms, fingers flexing above Stiles' head. He wasn't touching Stiles with his hands, but he was pretty well pressed up against him everywhere else. That was enough for now, but it wasn't going to be for long.

Stiles' hands were hot on Derek's chest, fingers spread, palms heavy over his heart. He moved slowly, hesitantly, as though he wasn't sure of his welcome, even though Derek was licking his way into his mouth with obvious hunger, the pads of his fingers brushing over Derek's nipples then darting away as though skittish.

Derek let a little growl rattle in his chest because he wanted to, even though he ought to be reassuring Stiles. Stiles didn't react badly; if anything completely the opposite. At this sound he slid his wet hands down to grip clumsily at Derek's waist and kilted his hips forward, boldly rubbing his erection against Derek's thigh. That last move may have been more instinctive than deliberate, of course.

Derek's own hard-on pulsed where it was caught between his groin and Stiles' hip. The urge to just push Stiles back into the wall and frot against him until they both came was a powerful one. Derek very nearly gave in to it, but he had more sense than that. If he tried something along those lines it was highly likely that Stiles would slip and brain himself against the shower wall.

So instead he dragged his mouth away from Stiles' and stared at him until he opened his dark, dazed eyes. Stiles' lips were plump, reddened, wet, and it took all of the will power Derek possessed not to lean back in to ravage them some more. But he had a greater goal in mind.

"What--?" Stiles breathed, licking those red lips, tongue tracking over their sweet curves the way Derek wanted to do with his own tongue, tasting the mingled flavor of both of them. "Derek?"

"Bed," Derek gritted, taking a painful step back and then turning to shut off the water, though one hand fell to rest possessively where Stiles' shoulder met his neck, squeezing. "Now."

Stiles blinked rapidly, then his expression of building indignation melted into a broad, delighted grin.

"Yeah," he agreed cheerfully, nodding. "Bed!"

"Now," Derek reminded, because that part was important too.

***

Derek was impatient, but it was Stiles' home and his bed so he insisted that they both at least try to dry themselves a little before heading toward his bedroom.

Of course, his erection was just as impatient as Derek evidently was, bouncing accusingly at Stiles as he ran the towel quickly over his chest, arms, legs. At least he wasn't the only one who was hard, Stiles thought, biting his lip as he tried really hard not to stare in fascination at Derek's boner.

Not out of shyness or locker room rules -- those were pretty much tossed out the window at this point, along with any modesty or restraint -- but in order to keep himself from leaping onto Derek, clinging like a monkey, and demanding to be taken against the sink before they even reached the bed.

Stiles felt his face burning at this thought, and it wasn't embarrassment that fueled his flush. Even though he was standing here naked in his bathroom with an equally naked Derek....

But Derek wouldn't have kissed him like that if he didn't want Stiles too, right? Completely apart from that stupid not-incubus mocking Derek to the same refrain that he had mocked Stiles, it was Derek's willingness, his eagerness that had Stiles convinced.

"I didn't know you swung that way," Stiles said inanely as Derek shook his head like a dog and dropped his damp towel on the floor. Because evidently Stiles Stilinski had never met a glorious opportunity that he couldn't do his best to torpedo.

Derek scowled at him, and that was at least a familiar expression, even if the thick thatch of hair surrounding his cock was new to Stiles. "Swung what way?" he asked.

"Um, _my_ way?" Stiles gulped, because Derek's erection was pointing in his general direction and his own jumped in excitement and delight at the sight. He didn't think his cheeks could burn any hotter without actually bursting into flames.

Derek snorted, and before Stiles quite knew what was happening, he found himself slung on his stomach over one powerful shoulder, Derek's hard hand clasped over his ass cheek as though to hold him in place, though Stiles privately thought Derek just wanted to cop a feel.

"Hey!" he squawked, having the good sense to _not_ flail as Derek carted him across the hall and into his bedroom. "Who told you to go all Neanderthal on me like this!"

Derek slung him down on his bed, and to be fair he did it relatively carefully, considering that he was a horny werewolf. Stiles only bounced twice.

"Don't pretend you don't like it," Derek smirked. 

Stiles totally had a snappy comeback, but he was content instead to lounge on his mattress, watching the flex of Derek's buttocks as he crossed to close the blinds. 

"Good idea," he approved.

Derek cast him an arch glance. "You think?"

Stiles pulled a face and then scrambled to toss aside the bedcovers. If Derek wanted to fit both of them on his mattress they were going to have to get awfully up-close and personal... not that Stiles thought either of them was going to have any problem with this.

"So," he drawled, leaning back against his pillows and trying to look seductive, "Are we going to take care of that pesky virginity problem so something like this doesn't happen again?"

Derek blinked, his face twisting up in a weird way, though whether this was in response to Stiles being all sexy, the question he had so bluntly asked, or the thought of what they would do if he answered in the positive, Stiles had zero idea.

"Because I've got lube," Stiles forged bravely onward, turning to reach under his mattress on one of the upper sides, plucking it from where he kept it hidden but easy to reach. "And we don't need condoms, right? Because you're a werewolf and I'm a virgin."

He broke off with a squeak as he rolled back over and found himself face to face with Derek. Who was crouched over him on hands and knees, a strangely open expression on his face that made him look younger, his wet hair falling over his forehead in a way that made Stiles itch to bury his hands in it.

"Put that down," Derek instructed, glance darting to the tube in Stiles' hand then back to his face again.

Stiles did, trying not to feel disappointed. "Is it because you're afraid you might hurt me?" he pressed onward, because he _really_ wanted Derek to fuck him, even more than he wanted to get off, all of a sudden. Or, well, as much as. "You don't need to worry about that, okay? Because I've had stuff in my ass. I don't just use that lube on my dick, you know."

"Oh my God, shut _up_ ," Derek groaned, but he collapsed onto Stiles and heavy hands clasped at Stiles' shoulders as Derek claimed his mouth again, so he maybe wasn't exactly annoyed.

Stiles squeaked again at the abrupt weight of Derek pressing him down into the bed, and that wasn't a sexy sound. But Derek didn't seem to mind. He lapped at Stiles' mouth, teased at his tongue, and the next sound Stiles loosed was a decidedly more sexy groan as he wrapped his arms around Derek's neck and muscular upper back, yielding to temptation and sinking his fingers into Derek's dark, damp hair, the other hand spread over the spot where Stiles knew Derek had his triskelion tattoo.

Derek slotted their hips together so that they could slide their hard erections against one another, and Stiles clenched his hand, fingers tugging at Derek's hair. Derek let out a low sound that was rough and almost broken, burying his face in the curve of Stiles' neck.

"No... no hickeys," Stiles managed to gasp out, taking the opportunity to catch his breath. He regretted losing Derek's mouth against his own, but it was hot and wet and sucking at his throat, and he arched, grinding his hips up against Derek's. He almost wished he could let Derek mark him there, let the world know what had happened, but then the thought of trying to explain to his Dad made him shudder, and not in the sexy way. He _definitely_ didn't want to be thinking about his father during sex.

"Not my neck," he clarified, because while he didn't want The Bite, he very much wanted to see if he liked being bitten in a sexy way. He strongly suspected he would. "Anywhere my shirt will cover. Or my pants."

Derek let out a sound that wasn't a growl but which was very, very sexy, and suddenly bent to sink his teeth into the meat of Stiles' shoulder, the big ridge of muscle that connected it to his neck.

Definitely, definitely liked it, Stiles thought in a white-hot haze as he cried out and jerked against Derek, his dick blurting out a thick bead of pre-come. He wasn't going to last long at this rate, but there was absolutely no way he was going to tell Derek to stop now.

He wanted to let Derek know how much he had liked that, but words had deserted him. Instead he yanked more vigorously at the thick hair he had captured, trying to press Derek's head in closer to his shoulder, all the while humping up mindlessly against Derek's lower belly.

He could feel the shaft of Derek's cock sliding alongside his own, thick and hard and hot, the head of it pulsing against his own stomach, and instead of feeling inadequate or being intimidated, he was just so incredibly turned on by how big Derek's package was.

Derek grunted, his jaw tightening where it had loosed a little. His teeth weren't fanged out, but they were sharp-edged, and the pain mingled with the pleasure that was filling Stiles so completely. It was all so good he couldn't really take it much longer. He could feel his balls aching, they were drawn up tight... he was about to come....

And then it was Derek who broke, tearing his mouth away from Stiles' shoulder, pressing his forehead there instead, breath breaking like moist fire against Stiles' chest as he panted hard twice, made a strained noise that almost sounded agonized, and sudden wet-hot unfurled between them, coating Stiles' stomach in an entirely unexpected flood.

Stiles would have loved to mock Derek for coming first, but he was busy clinging to the larger body over top of him, his hips moving as much as he could when Derek was squishing him into the bed, grinding his throbbing dick into the slick mess Derek had made between them, just one, two, three, then four thrusts before he was coming too, shaking and shuddering, mouth open as he worked through one of the better orgasms he'd ever had.

But then, this was the first orgasm he'd had with someone other than himself. So it only stood to reason that it be good, he thought blearily as he tumbled in a sprawl of trembling limbs, slowly dragging his hand free of Derek's hair and letting it fall to the mattress, fingers flexing, the other hand still spread over Derek's tattoo.

"That was hot," he mumbled, then he hummed happily as Derek lifted his head and kissed him far more softly and sweetly than he ever would have thought the Alpha capable of. He wasn't sure he liked it -- gentle was for girls and neither of them was a girl -- but he was riding the warm swell of his afterglow, so he didn't complain. 

Derek didn't agree, but he'd just come all over Stiles so he doubted he would say it hadn't been. Stiles' other hand slid free and fell to the bed as well as Derek shifted off of him, rolling to the side and reaching down to rub their mingled jizz onto the skin of Stiles' stomach and chest. There was a lazy, contented, _smug_ look on his face that made Stiles' chest feel tight but warm at the same time. 

"Dude, gross," he protested, but it was actually kind of unbearably hot, as though Derek was claiming him, even more than the bite-mark still stinging on his shoulder. And so he added, "Give me fifteen minutes or so and I'll be good to go again."

Derek glanced up at him, brow raised, but a considering gleam in his eyes.

"Sixteen years old here," Stiles reminded, wiggling happily, then grinning and stretching on the mattress, limbs shivering. "Minimal refractory period; trust me, I know." He felt as though he was filled with something sweet and rich and warm like hot chocolate, even though, admittedly, hot chocolate wasn't very sexy. His dick was already twitching with renewed interest, especially since Derek's hand had come to rest flat against his belly beneath his bellybutton, spread heavy and possessive. 

Derek snorted, then carded his fingers through Stiles' come-soaked pubes, which was nasty and arousing in equal parts, and Stiles amended that fifteen minutes to ten at the most.

"What about you?" he asked, suddenly anxious. "You're a werewolf, so you have that super-fast healing thing, right? Does that include your nuts?"

Derek stared at him incredulously for a long moment, then groaned and dropped his head onto Stiles' shoulder again. Not in a sexy way this time, though. 

"Do you ever shut up?" he asked Stiles' nipple, though his hand was still playing awfully near Stiles' dick. Which was definitely becoming more and more interested in Derek's touch.

"I might if I had a cock in my mouth," Stiles suggested hopefully. He'd wanted to try cocksucking ever since he'd seen his first porno with a blowjob. He hoped he'd be good at it, but even if he wasn't, he could learn. And he definitely wanted a better look at Derek's cock. Derek still had his foreskin -- which he figured made sense, considering he'd been born a werewolf and they probably weren't into things like genital mutilation -- and Stiles _wanted_ so badly that his mouth was already watering at the thought.

Derek whipped his head up, staring at him wordlessly, those adorable bunny teeth exposed again. Stiles vowed never to mention them, because then Derek would become self conscious and keep his lips closed all the time and that would be no fun at all.

"If you trust my mouth around your delicate bits," Stiles amended, because for all he knew Derek might have a problem with that. Stiles kind of thought that most males lived for nothing more than to have their penis sucked -- that was certainly what his years spent on the internet had taught him -- but there were always exceptions and maybe Derek was one of those.

Derek closed the hand on Stiles' stomach, and Stiles started as he felt the prick of claws against his skin. Derek hadn't broken the skin, it had been a light, shivering drag, but to think that Stiles' words had caused Derek to lose that much control....

"Yeah, okay," Derek rasped, his eyes wide, streaks of red highlighting his ridiculous cheekbones. Stiles hated to think about what he looked like himself, all splotchy the way he got when he jerked off, but Derek didn't seem to mind when he bent his head to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss against his parted lips.

Stiles' bed was narrow and so it took a little maneuvering, but eventually they settled with Derek on his back, propped on the pillows, and Stiles crouched between his spread thighs.

This was a new position for Stiles on his own bed... but one he had very definitely fantasized about before, he had to admit. He wondered if he counted as not-a-virgin anymore now, if just getting off in the presence of someone else was good enough, or if penetration would be required. He was still kind of hoping to talk Derek into that latter, even though up close as he was now Derek's cock was even bigger, more impressive than he'd thought before.

And Derek, while still kind of stiff -- or maybe stiffening up anew -- was mostly flaccid. That was kind of intimidating, Stiles thought. Good thing he had a big mouth! His jaw was going to be aching, though. Dang.

The red tip of Derek's cock was peering out of his foreskin, his cock partially hard but drooping thick and heavy where it hung over his fuzzy nutsack. And what a nutsack it was.

"I knew you had big balls, from the way you strutted" Stiles said, speaking directly to Derek's crotch because he was too mesmerized to look away, "But your cock is huge too."

Derek started shaking, and Stiles glanced up, frowning in confusion and faint concern. Derek had his hands covering his face, and his shoulders especially were shuddering as he....

"You're laughing at me!" Stiles accused indignantly.

Derek lowered his hands, his eyes crinkled, lashes damp with tears, his cheeks even more flushed than they had been before. "Do you really expect me not to?" he asked incredulously.

Stiles shook his head. "Lucky for you I'm a big fan of laughter during sex," he said haughtily. Not that he'd ever had sex before, but he'd thought about it a _lot_ and he was already pretty sure of his likes and dislikes. Now kinks, he was definitely open to discovering as he went along. Like the hair pulling. He'd liked pulling Derek's hair, and he thought Derek had liked it too. Maybe he would grow his own hair out so that Derek could return the favor. And the biting....

Ooh, the biting. That was going to be a big one, he could already tell, Stiles thought as he flexed his one shoulder faintly just to feel the mark Derek had left there throb.

And now here, staring at Derek's mighty genitals, he thought that he was about to be delighted to get a palmful of balls. Yep, that was something that was going to happen. He'd gotten down here with cocksucking in mind, but now that he'd gotten a good look, he couldn't just put Derek's cock in his mouth without paying his balls their homage as well.

"You don't have to," Derek said, his voice strained, and Stiles was actually touched, no really he was, that he was trying to give him an out. 

"I'm not hesitating," he informed Derek seriously. "I'm savoring."

Derek actually had the gall to roll his eyes. When Stiles was offering to suck his cock, the ingrate. Stiles meant to scowl but it was hard to do when he was licking his lips, so he let that go as he reached forward.

He didn't want to risk pissing Derek off, so he cupped one hand over the bulk of Derek's semi, like he was going to pet it only he held his hand still. Then with his other hand, he very carefully but not too gently palmed Derek's nuts.

He got a sharp intake of breath as a result and Derek's thighs tightened to either side of him. Derek's thighs deserved their own moment of worship, Stiles, thought, but maybe next time. If there was a next time. Right now he had no guarantee of a second chance, so he wanted to focus on the glorious genitals filling up both his hands.

He didn't stop to think about the fact that he had Derek's junk in his hands. He didn't dwell over the fact that his fingers were getting tacky with their mingled come. He really _couldn't_ linger on those realizations, because he needed to focus on the reality that was before him.

Derek's cock was getting harder under his palm, Stiles thought gleefully as he massaged those full, round balls. He might be a virgin, or at least still mostly a virgin, but he'd played with himself enough that he knew what to do with the equipment. Derek was bigger than he was -- not a lot bigger, since Stiles definitely lived up to the promise of his large hands and feet -- and he was a werewolf rather than a human, but he was no different here, and Stiles intended to find out what he liked.

Well, there was one thing that was different, Stiles mused, licking his lips again. Somewhere overhead he was conscious of Derek giving vent to a quiet groan, and his thighs were flexing restlessly even though he was holding his hips still. But Stiles was focused on what was before him. Namely, prime Alpha meat. And, oh God, if Derek ever knew that this thought had crossed his mind....

Stiles tamped down on a giggle, instead opening his mouth more widely and sliding the head of Derek's cock onto his tongue. It filled him up just the way he had thought it was going to, hotter than he had expected -- which was pretty dumb of him, he realized in retrospect -- and it tasted bitter with their combined spunk smeared all over it.

Rather than taking it out or being disgusted, Stiles felt his mouth flood with saliva, and he hummed thoughtfully as he closed his lips around the shaft and set to sucking on it.

Derek loosed a throttled sound and his hips surged, but he seemed to be doing his best to control himself. Stiles appreciated that, even as he did what he could to make Derek lose that control.

Not on purpose, really. It was just that it was great fun to run the tip of his tongue around the flared base of the head through the soft sheath of the foreskin, then up over the slit at the tip. Derek shifted against the mattress again, an abortive thrust, and let out a muffled curse. 

Stiles could feel him getting harder in his mouth, the shaft filling out, the foreskin sliding back as his cock swelled. There was a sudden sharp taste of pre-come spilling on his tongue, but then Stiles had to pull off. Not because he didn't like it, though he wasn't so sure about the flavor, but because his jaw had begun to really ache, just like he'd expected.

"Damn, you're huge," he informed Derek, massaging the hinge of his jaw. His lips felt raw and swollen, and he hadn't even really gotten to _do_ anything yet. Clearly blowjobs were something he was going to have to work his way up to; at least with a partner as "gifted" as Derek.

Not that Stiles wanted to have sex with anyone who wasn't Derek. Maybe that stupid not-incubus had been more right than Stiles had wanted to admit.... Though Stiles still didn't want to admit that Derek had a claim on his heart. Just because he wanted to have sex with Derek and didn't want to have sex with anyone else, that didn't mean he was _in love_ with him, right?

"Get up here," Derek suddenly growled, reaching down and grabbing Stiles whether he wanted or not.

"I wasn't done yet," Stiles protested, but then Derek was kissing him again and his lips still felt full and overly-sensitized, and they tingled where they rubbed against Derek's, sending sparks of arousal all through him but especially to his dick, which was definitely most of the way to hard again.

"You were done," Derek mumbled into his mouth, then thrust his tongue between his lips with a forcefulness that had Stiles whining, feeling flushed down his throat to his chest, licking at his teeth and gums and his own tongue.

"If you still want me to fuck you, that is," Derek added, once he finally broke their kiss.

***

"Yes, please," Stiles squeaked, and it would have been amusing if his cock hadn't throbbed against Derek's belly, if his eyes hadn't gone heavy-lidded and hot, if his mouth hadn't dropped open. That amazing red mouth with its plush red lips that had just been sucking on Derek's aching cock.

And, yeah, maybe Derek wasn't quite fully hard again yet, but he was close and getting closer. It was probably a really _bad_ idea to fuck the underage son of the Sheriff in the man's own house, but Derek was kind of resigned to making bad decisions by this point. And this one... well, this one felt very much right in this moment.

Stiles was certainly excited by the prospect, squirming where he was sprawled on top of Derek, elegant hands moving restlessly over Derek's torso, fingers catching at his nipples seemingly by accident.

"I get to suck you off later, though, right?" Stiles asked, and it should have been amusing how earnest he sounded, but it was actually just hot as hell and made Derek's cock pulse with rising arousal.

"Sure," he agreed recklessly, because by this point he couldn't very well wallow in denial and say he didn't want this, or that he wasn't going to want it again. Besides, who was likely to say no to a blowjob? Especially when the offer came from a boy with a mouth like Stiles had.

Derek was well aware that Stiles was still sixteen while he himself was an adult, that Stiles was human and he was a werewolf, that this was all a really terrible idea.... But he now knew how Stiles' come smelled combined with his. He knew the warmth and the cleverness of Stiles' fingers on his balls, the suction of his mouth on Derek's cock. And he wasn't going to be able to forget any of that.

Was taking Stiles all the way his first time a really selfish, awful idea? 

Yes.

Was Derek going to do it anyway? 

He was. 

He absolutely was. 

Now.

At least he could comfort himself with the knowledge that it had not only been Stiles' idea, but that Stiles had asked for it, had practically begged for it. So it wasn't as though Derek had sprung this on him unexpectedly or something....

It was faint justification, Derek was well aware. But as Stiles pressed the tube of lubricant into his hand, he let go all his reservations and committed himself to this course of events.

Besides, if he tried to go back on it now he suspected Stiles would never forgive him. And for some reason, even though it he didn't think it had ever bothered him before, he didn't like the thought of Stiles being upset with him.

Especially not when it was something that they _both_ wanted. 

There was very little room for maneuvering on Stiles' bed. Derek kind of wished he'd taken them back to his place, and not just because his bed was bigger, though that was definitely a motivator. His bed was full sized and it smelled like him. Also, if they'd gone to his place Derek could have dressed Stiles in more of his own clothing once they were done. And that was something Derek intended to do as often as he could get away with from here on out.

But Stiles' home had been closer and he'd had lube on hand, easy to get at, and maybe once they were finished here, _then_ Derek could convince Stiles to come home with him. It was a thought, anyway.

Derek manipulated Stiles until he was straddling Derek's thighs as he sat up on the bed, his arms around Derek's shoulders, his neck bent so that they could mouth at one another with slow kisses that started out lazy but which were gaining in urgency. 

Derek locked a hand on the nape of Stiles' neck, the other shifting from his hip to his thigh then to his ass, grabbing a cheek and squeezing. He was careful to keep it to a strength that wouldn't bruise, and the strangled sound that Stiles loosed into his mouth was all pleasure, his hips surging forward, hard cock bumping up against Derek's torso.

"Unless you want me rubbing off on you again," Stiles mumbled into Derek's lips, "You'd better get on with things."

Derek chuckled, feeling magnanimous toward Stiles, freeing his hands to uncap the lube. Stiles kissed him, wet and deep and filthy as he got his fingers good and slick, and if Stiles was this quick a learner where kissing was involved, then Derek was definitely looking forward to that promised blowjob....

But right now he had something even better than a blow to look forward to. Stiles shifted restlessly over him as Derek massaged at the skin of his anus, sucking on his tongue until the root ached. He shoved his rear back, and recalling what Stiles had said about having had things in his ass previously, Derek pressed in two fingers with very little hesitation, not even bothering to start with just one.

Stiles moaned, breaking their kiss and tossing his head back. His hands were tight on Derek's shoulders and his thighs clenched around Derek's hips. Derek took advantage, leaning in and gripping the bruise he'd already put on Stiles' pale skin with his teeth again, clenching down the same way Stiles' ass was clenching around his intrusive fingers.

Stiles was tight but not unreceptive, and once Derek's fingers were past the initial resistance it was almost as though his body sucked them in. He was soft and hot inside, and Derek's cock jumped, twitching to full hardness already, pre-come trickling down the shaft in a hot tickle that was as much annoying as it was arousing.

"More, Derek," Stiles crooned, grinding his hips in tight circles, fingers digging into his upper back. "I can take more, come on, I want you in me."

Derek had been a little concerned about what Stiles might consider bedroom talk, especially when he'd started babbling about laughing during sex, but he wasn't laughing now and his hoarse demand sent a hot hook right into Derek's crotch, making his cock jerk and his balls rise more tightly into his body. 

"Shut up," he growled, letting go his mouthful, but only shifting slightly upward to press soft, wet kisses against the side of Stiles' neck as he shoved a third finger in.

Stiles let out a guttural sound at this, still no pain in him, only arousal and desire etched in every tense line of his body, ripe in his scent. Derek figured he'd been careful and controlled for long enough.

Within moments he had Stiles on his face on the bed, and that wasn't very romantic, but they were both guys, so they didn't do romantic. Besides, if Stiles wanted Derek in his ass then Derek was going to have to be able to get at it properly.

Stiles squirmed, bunching up his bottom sheet, legs spread to either side of Derek, rear thrust up toward him even though this meant he couldn't hump against the mattress, letting out hungry, impatient noises. 

"Come on, come on," he was chanting, already panting for breath, and then he stopped breathing altogether as Derek pressed those three fingers back in, smoothing on more lube, using his werewolf strength to stretch out a muscle that was by its nature very determined to keep him out.

"Oh, damn, you're good at that," Stiles whined, shoving back into it. Derek could smell that his cock was already leaking, even more copiously than before, and he was actually really glad that Stiles was sixteen, because an older partner wouldn't have been this ready to go again so soon.

Derek thought about telling Stiles to shut up again, but his cock was hard and eager and Stiles was wet and loose, as ready as he could be when he was a virgin. Derek felt a little bad that he'd be the one taking Stiles' virginity, but he came back to what the not-incubus had said, that he held claim to Stiles' heart. Even if that was only partially true, it was enough to assuage the majority of his guilt.

Besides, the thought of anyone else having this made his hackles raise. He hadn't known he felt so strongly or so possessively about Stiles, but now that he was here, about to fuck him for the first time, it wasn't as though he was going to be able to deny it.

Stiles peered over his shoulder as Derek took a moment to lubricate his turgid length, and his gaze was bright even though his eyelids were heavy and his cheeks were red. If there had been the slightest hint of nerves, Derek might have called the whole thing off, even though nerves were only to be expected for a first time, but there was nothing other than anticipation and arousal in Stiles eyes, fueling the panting breaths coming from his parted red lips.

"Oh, damn," Stiles groaned, but he also tilted his hips up in offering. "Hurry up, Derek."

Now Derek did say it. "Shut up," he instructed, but at the same time he smoothed his lube-free hand over the curve of Stiles' ass. Then he reached for one of the pillows. 

Stiles' entire bed already reeked of his own solitary sexual exploits, but his pillows seemed to have escaped the worst of it. No longer, Derek smirked to himself as he slotted the pillow under Stiles' hips. Not only did this raise Stiles' ass up for more ready access, but it would give him something to hump against while Derek fucked him. As he shifted the folded-over pillow into place with one hand, Derek used his lube slick fingers to press Stiles' erection up against his flat belly, giving it a couple of hard tugs that made Stiles keen, before shoving him down against the firm softness of the pillow.

Before Stiles could say anything, Derek grabbed his own cock, pulling on it once, then tilting it down so that the lube-slick head was butting right up against the hole he had so thoroughly prepared. Stiles let out a loud cry as Derek punched inside without preamble, but it wasn't a sound of pain, and the powerful, musk-rich smell that poured off of him was nothing more than it was incentive to continue.

Derek did get a whiff of pain in Stiles' scent as he fed the rest of his throbbing cock into Stiles' tight ass, but the way Stiles canted his pelvis back into it pretty much let him know not to stop. If that wasn't enough, Stiles started babbling into his fists, where they were clutching at his bottom sheet.

"Oh, God, yes, Derek, more, God, you're so huge, oh, fuck, fuuuuuuuck."

Derek held still once he was inside to the base of his cock, giving Stiles a moment to adjust. As eager as the boy was, Derek knew that this intrusion was going to take some getting used to. Not to mention he may well need that same moment in order to get a handle on himself. Stiles wasn't the only one who was overwhelmed by this intimate penetration.

"Come on," Stiles gritted after several frantic heartbeats, his hips shifting restlessly, drawing a low groan out of Derek before he could restrain it. "Come on, Derek, _move_."

Instead of telling Stiles to shut up or saying something reassuring, Derek nipped at the nape of Stiles' neck, staying as deep as he was but grinding his hips in tight little circles, his hard cock moving inside of Stiles in a way designed to titillate both of them.

Stiles cried out, possibly from the movements, possibly from the bite, more than likely from both. He smelled like sex, he smelled like wanting, he smelled like Derek and he smelled like _Derek's_. When he pushed himself up and back, trying to get his knees underneath him, Derek held him down at the same time he began a long, slick withdrawal that had Stiles keening again.

He jolted and moaned as Derek shoved back inside, and Derek grunted, letting go the bruise he'd been biting into Stiles' nape in preference of grabbing his shoulders and bracing himself so that he could set to a series of in and out thrusts, starting out slow and easy but rapidly growing sharp and demanding as he slammed into Stiles' ass.

Stiles was letting out little sounds of encouragement and pleasure, sounds that Derek fucked right on up out of him, he thought with a certain amount of pride and accomplishment. Stiles' breath was catching so harshly in his throat that it almost sounded like he was sobbing and Derek knew he wasn't being particularly quiet himself as he plowed Stiles the way the boy had wanted, had practically been begging for.

It seemed as though hours had passed, or maybe it had only been only minutes, when Stiles stiffened, let out a final loud shuddering yell, and clenched tightly around Derek's driving cock, spilling his load all over the pillow underneath him in a sudden rush of completion and salty semen. 

Derek growled deep in his chest as the smell of Stiles' come washed up into his nose, mingling with the scent of their fresh, hot perspiration, and he draped his body over Stiles' as completely as he could, teeth snapping on his nape, hips jerking faster and harder, his thighs slapping against the backs of Stiles' thighs, his swollen, aching cock making slickwet spanking noises inside of Stiles' asshole as he fucked hard toward his own climax.

Stiles was still writhing beneath him, in the throes of the last of his orgasm, as Derek stiffened, ground out something that was a little too close to a howl for his comfort when he was in the Sheriff's house in the middle of town, and then jolted as his balls tightened and he filled Stiles with a generous load of his thick, hot come.

They came to a panting, heaving halt, tangled together in an effort to make sure no one fell off the bed, twisting onto their sides, face to face so that Derek could kiss Stiles, could lick the salty sweat and tears off his flushed face. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, Stiles locked his arms around Derek, and once he was sure they were both centered on the mattress, Derek reached back to slot two of his fingers into Stiles' puffy-hot hole, feeling his jizz leaking out of it, making sure that he hadn't done any actual damage. 

Well, and he might have been savoring his triumph as well, he had to admit. Feeling what he had accomplished where no one else had ever been. Where no one else would ever be if he had his way.

"God damn," Stiles ground out after several minutes of kissing and cooling down, once Derek had finally, reluctantly pulled his fingers out of his ass. "That was awesome. Now I see why Scott's such an idiot all the time."

Derek snorted, because in his opinion Scott had been an idiot even before he'd started fucking that Argent girl, but he wasn't going to ruin the mood by insulting Stiles' best friend. Even though Stiles had made a good start to ruining the mood by mentioning Scott at all.

Honestly, though, Derek thought with an alarming amount of affection, would Stiles be Stiles if he _didn't_ somehow ruin the mood? And how much could he ruin it if they were both laying here feeling so well fucked?

"Remind me to get our blood-soaked jeans out of the sink before Dad gets home," Stiles said sleepily. Because even when Derek had only asked the question internally, Stiles evidently felt compelled to answer it.

He groaned, burying his face in Stiles' shoulder again, but this time pressing light little kisses there. He'd already done enough damage to this smooth sweep of flesh and muscle. He hadn't broken the skin at any point, because the last thing he intended to do was risk turning Stiles when neither of them wanted that. But the delicate skin was bruising up nicely in the shape of Derek's teeth, and he was well aware that Stiles bore a matching mark on the nape of his neck. In fact, he was palming at it now.

"I liked that," Stiles said drowsily, one leg slung easily over Derek, self-consciousness evidently a thing of the past. Well, considering where Derek had just had his cock and considering that they were now cuddling together on Stiles' bed, it wasn't as though there were many physically boundaries left between them. Not any that both of them didn't intend to break at some point soon, anyway.

"I kinda figured, considering you came," Derek replied dryly. Sex didn't wipe him out the way it evidently did Stiles, even though he had been the one doing all the work, but he was feeling lazy, contented, replete.... 

"No, I meant the biting, jackass," Stiles said, smacking him on the upper arm. Derek raised his head to watch the renewed flush break through Stiles' cheeks. He was never going to get tired of that. Stiles smelled the way Derek felt, warm and contented, and he didn't think he'd get tired of that either. Especially now that Stiles was covered in Derek's scent; his perspiration and his spunk.

It was just as good as Derek had expected and more so. He couldn't wait to drag Stiles to his own place, get him rolling around in Derek's sheets, wearing his clothes, bathing in his shower... and keep him drenched in Derek's come and sweat, as well as Stiles' own.

It probably should have concerned him that he was thinking in terms of the future and ownership. But here in the rich, hazy lull of his afterglow Derek found it was easy to just go with this, to let himself believe that he could have this. That he could have Stiles.

"Was this okay?" Stiles asked, reaching up with a floppy hand and awkwardly petting at Derek's head.

"I came, didn't I?" Derek grunted.

"No, I meant the hair-pulling," Stiles huffed, shaking his head, looking exasperated but... affectionate? If Derek wasn't completely misreading him. Which was a strong possibility, but evidently he'd read him right, because there was a small smile playing around the corners of Stiles' lips. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't, like, hate it or something."

Derek snorted. "I didn't hate it," he informed Stiles. It was clear that Stiles needed the verbal assurance as well as physical, though Derek would have thought that he'd made his enthusiasm perfectly evident at the time. It was written in the bruise on Stiles' shoulder, in fact.

"Cool." Stiles' grin widened and he threaded his fingers into Derek's hair again. Not pulling this time, but just letting them rest there, palm open against the curve of his skull.

Maybe to prevent Stiles from further ruining the moment, maybe because he just wanted to, Derek pressed forward and kissed Stiles again. 

Stiles let out a happy little grumbling sound that was almost words but not quite and his tongue lashed, quick and sloppy against the line of Derek's lower lip before sliding inside his mouth. Derek let him get away with this for a moment before he sent his own tongue to battle back, pushing into Stiles' hot mouth, licking at his teeth and tangling with his limber tongue. Not with any sense of urgency. Just tasting, touching, enjoying one another.

They kissed lazily for a while, Stiles' palm and fingertips flexing against Derek's head, Derek reaching down to cup the sweet swell of Stiles' tight little ass and massaging that in a similar fashion. He didn't venture near its center for now, planning on giving Stiles time to recover, and this thought prompted him to pull away and ask;

"Are you okay? I mean, do you feel.... You're not hurt, are you?"

"Naw," Stiles answered reassuringly quickly. "Feel a little sore and maybe even a little bruised, way up inside because your cock is a _lot_ bigger and longer than anything else I've had in there before, but it kind of feels good. I know you were there. And, hey, now I'm not a virgin anymore!"

Derek almost chuckled at the sheer delight in Stiles' voice. It was certainly better than if he regretted it or something. He didn't read anything even approaching regret in Stiles' voice, body language, or scent.

In fact, Stiles was starting to smell of mounting arousal again. Lightly, and he was still lying there like a limp noodle, but Derek sensed the potential. Definitely a sixteen year old, and a prime example of one. Good thing Derek was an Alpha; he might just have a chance of keeping up with him.

"We should get those jeans out of the sink, go to my place, and spend the rest of Valentine's Day on my bed," he said, sliding his hand around to Stiles' hip and massaging at the hard jut of bone and tight muscle there. "It's a lot bigger than this bed."

Stiles yawned widely, and Derek nearly held his breath, wondering how this was going to go.

"Yeah, okay," Stiles said, withdrawing his hand from Derek's hair and trailing his fingertips over the line of Derek's cheekbone, detouring to trace the sharp curve of his jaw, rasping through his stubble. "I'll text my Dad and tell him I'm doing... something," he finished with a certain amount of confident vagueness.

Derek smirked and kissed Stiles again before climbing off the bed and hauling him up after him.

"Ugh," Stiles groaned, lips curling down in an exaggerated moue of discomfort. "Maybe not letting you in this ass again tonight. Not unless you get me really hopped up on endorphins."

"There are other ways to get off," Derek replied, dragging Stiles to the bathroom, because as much as he liked the smell of his come on Stiles they both needed to clean off before they got dressed and went out in public. "And I'm pretty sure you already know most of them thanks to the internet."

Stiles let out a small laugh, bumping into Derek in a way that seemed as much deliberate as it was because his legs didn't want to work right. "Pretty sure I do," he replied. "Also pretty sure you owe me a blowjob."

Derek didn't ask whether Stiles meant giving or receiving, because he was fine with this idea either way. As Stiles pulled their jeans out of the sink and got the water heated, running a washcloth under the stream, he crowded in close, groping that tempting ass.

"Maybe I could kiss this and make it better," he rumbled in Stiles' ear, following these words up with a wet, filthy curl of his tongue.

"Oh, shit." He had to catch Stiles when his knees buckled and he couldn't help chuckling a little. Stiles' wet fingers scrabbled at the porcelain of the sink, washcloth dropping with a wet plop. They really needed to get cleaned up and get to Derek's place, but he took a moment to mouth at the bruise he'd bitten in Stiles' nape, all soft lips and a laving tongue, no teeth.

"Ready to go?" he asked as Stiles got his legs under him, reaching around him for the washcloth. 

"Well, yeah," Stiles mumbled, turning around and giving Derek an arch look. "Aside from the fact that we're both naked and still covered in jizz."

Instead of replying, Derek plied the warm cloth over the skin of Stiles' stomach, working his way down to his hardening cock. Stiles squawked as he circled his balls, clutching at Derek's forearms with tense fingers. Hs breath caught, his head banging down onto Derek's shoulder, cock jumping in renewed interest.

"We should..." he said breathlessly, arching into Derek, "We should hurry. Should definitely hurry."

"Yeah," Derek grunted, making a much quicker job of wiping himself down. He didn't have come leaking out of his ass like Stiles, after all.

They both threw on some clothes, Derek borrowing a pair of sweats and a teeshirt from Stiles, and then Stiles bagged up their gore-splattered jeans while Derek checked the shower stall for telltale blood stains. There were none, and so they were ready to be on their way.

"Let's go," he said, jingling his keys.

"Yep," Stiles grinned, then leaned in and stole a kiss. "Happy Valentine's Day for another hour or so," he said, waving the phone he'd been using to text his father, presumably to indicate the time on its display. "Thanks for saving my life and taking my virginity," he continued before Derek could reply, his lips spreading in an impish grin. "And I appreciate the burger you bought me. But I'm thinking next year we can stay in and I'll cook for you, and there can be more fucking and less stabbing nasty supernatural beasties that explode."

Derek felt something coil up warm and almost painful in his chest and belly at the thought of "next year" with Stiles. His breath caught at the realization that Stiles must still intend to be with him a year from now, considering what he had just said.

"I'll make dessert," he offered instead of freaking out, leaning in to kiss Stiles back. "But I can't really make any promises about exploding monsters. Those things just kind of happen."

Stiles laughed and Derek didn't think he was imagining the clear note of relief in the sound. "But you can promise to _try_ ," he pointed out, arching a brow.

"I'll try," Derek promised, shaking his head and smiling. "Now, let's get going." He didn't really care that it was Valentine's Day or that it was close to midnight, except in that he was glad Stiles wasn't going to have his heart torn out. 

Well, Stiles didn't remain unclaimed any longer, sexually or otherwise. And neither of them had made a move until after the not-incubus had been dealt with so there wasn't any sense of coercion to their coming together. In fact, Stiles had been the one to invite Derek into the shower with him.

"I'm starving. Let's stop at a drive-thru on the way to your place," Stiles suggested, his eyes bright, his expression open. Evidently losing his virginity agreed with him. He was limping slightly as he walked, but there was a spring to his step at the same time, and he was practically glowing.

"I'm glad you're not dead," Derek told Stiles as they exited the Stilinski house, and he meant it.

"I'm glad I'm not dead too." Stiles grinned at Derek as he locked the door. "How about we get going so I can show you how glad I am and how not dead I am."

None of that made much sense but Derek was used to the lack of sense from Stiles and he figured it meant more orgasms in their near future so he was fine with that. Maybe it had been a mistake to take Stiles with him on that stakeout today, but things had turned out all right in the end. Derek wasn't used to happy endings, but since this was a beginning rather than an ending, he figured he was safe.

At any rate, he was taking Stiles home and doing his level best to make him _his_. 

"Hey, Derek," Stiles murmured once they had both gotten in the car, so quietly that Derek barely heard him over the rumble of the engine, even with his werewolf hearing. "That not-incubus... wasn't completely wrong."

That was one hell of a confession, Derek thought with an internal lurch. It had taken a lot of courage for Stiles to voice it and that explained why he'd said it so softly. There was really only one way for Derek to respond.

"He wasn't wrong," he agreed, giving Stiles as much of himself as Stiles had just given him.

Thick silence filled the Camaro as Derek headed for the nearest fast food place that was still open at an hour approaching midnight.

Finally, "Cool," Stiles proclaimed, sinking back into his seat and smiling widely.

The next time Derek shifted gears, his hand drifted over to palm Stiles' lean thigh through the soft material of his jeans. Stiles was relaxed and at ease under his hand, and Derek just left it resting there. Confident. Possessive. Stiles belonged to him now.

And, evidently, Derek belonged to Stiles at the same time. That was fine, though. He was okay with that. Somehow.

"Cool," he echoed under his breath, but he was agreeing, not mocking Stiles. And when Stiles' hand snuck over top of his, fingers twining with his own, it felt right, felt like they belonged together, entwined like their hands were entwined.

This was an incredibly sappy thought to have, Derek thought, but it was still Valentine's Day for another hour or so. He was allowed.

He was totally making Stiles pay at the drive-thru, though.


End file.
